


Horsepower

by Cazio



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Apocalypse, Blackhawk - Freeform, Cazio, Clintasha - Freeform, Conquest, Death, F/M, Famine - Freeform, Gen, Horsepower, Implied Relationships, M/M, Science Bros, Stanner, Stony - Freeform, The Four Horsemen, Thorki - Freeform, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 116,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Less than a month after the NYC incident, the Avengers are reunited, this time to stop what appears to be the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. It turns out to be nothing they ever expected.<br/>Action, angst, bromances and romances abound; from messing with your emotions to Stark sass. Complete, multi-chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I must warn you that if you are looking for a supa-fluffy slashy fic, this is not the one for you. This story is action/adventure central, but there are plenty of feelings to enjoy so you won't be completely disappointed, I promise. 
> 
> I would like to thank my lovely editors, friends, and readers for helping me with this story, I love you all!
> 
>  **ALSO:** This story is currently undergoing editing. My stupidity gradually lessened since starting this fic, so please excuse me doing things like calling Steve Rogers, Steve Rodgers. Most of these had already been fixed, but I am going through and editing everything since this story has been completed. Thank you for your patience~!

 

He was insatiably nervous. The feeling of adrenaline rushing to his fingers, made his hands tremble slightly in the evening air. His chest tightened and each breath felt thinner than the last. He had no idea why he was so terrified, no idea why his spine was tingling. Nothing was supposed to be worrying him anymore, all of his troubles had been settled, everything was supposed to be fine. Yet he could feel every muscle inside him grow tense. He gripped the edge of the covers until his knuckles turned white. Perhaps it was a dream, a nightmare. He took a shuddering breath, knowing that was foolish. He had only gone to bed a few minutes ago, there was no time for him to go to sleep. He wasn't dreaming—he was wide-awake. And he was terrified.

It was as if a metal vice was crushing him, slowly enough that he could pretend it wasn't happening. He'd always been accused of worrying about things too much, little things always stuck with him. If he was insulted, even as a joke, it stuck with him for days on end. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself.

 It didn't work. It never worked. He always told people he liked being stressed, that if he wasn't on the job he would be stressing out that he'd forgotten to do something. Everything could stress him out. If someone made plans with him for the next night, he stressed out until he stepped out the door to go meet up. He hated it, but at least it prevented procrastination.

People always reminded him that this life was temporary, a speck of sand compared to eternity. Sometimes that scared him, other times it made him work harder. His time in the world may be temporary, but it was certainly long enough for him to screw something up.

So there he lay, gripping his blanket like a child, trying to will the stress away from him. The wind began to pick up, and he tried to focus on it and ignore his confused heartbeat. It would speed up, then slow dramatically, only to speed up again. The wind seemed content with his attention, and began to rattle the shutters. Too much. He swallowed, sitting up and releasing the covers from his vice grip. He began to hum as he stood and went to the window to peer outside. The fields' were an ocean of silvery waves as the grasses lashed back and forth in the crushing wind. Thick, dark clouds were gathered above, pregnant with rain. He never really liked storms, especially at night.

A brilliant streak of lightning ripped through the sky, followed almost instantaneously by a boom of thunder. He jumped as the house shook, his breathing escalating. That was close. He thought of his horses, knowing they would be frightened. Luckily, he had put them in the barn for the night; he usually left them to roam the pasture as they pleased. Another peal of lightning flashed and he saw the vein of light connect with the ground. The thunder was deafening, and he stepped back from the window, gripping his bedpost. The rain started in a frenzy—huge droplets slammed into his windowpane. The intense precipitation quickly obscured his view of the field and he turned away. Another flash of lightning illuminated his quaint bedroom and the sound of a shrill whinny reached his ears. He froze, lurching to the window again, fearing the worst. Had one of his horses gotten out of the barn?

He could only imagine the injuries that could ensue if it bolted, pulled tendons, worse, a broken leg. The rain still created a thick haze, but he could see the dark shadow of a horse in the field. He squinted, pressing his face to the glass. Something wasn't right, the horse was much bigger than any of his. He tried to think whom it could belong to, but he didn't know of any horse farms close by.

The horse reared, splaying its hooves in a triumphant display of its power. The man pressed closer, cocking an eyebrow at the shape on its back. Certainly it couldn't be a person, no one went riding around at three in the morning, especially during a thunderstorm. The horse's hooves returned to the ground, and he swore he could feel the earth rumble.

"Stupid teenagers," he growled under his breath, grabbing his bathrobe and slipping it on as he made his way down the stairs. He was not about to let some neighbor of his get near his farm. They came by his cornfields in the summer and wrecked a good portion of his crop—until he had employed a few guard dogs to keep watch. That had shown them. This kid must've been too stupid to notice the 'no trespassing' signs. He may be fine with letting his dogs get a mouthful of rowdy teenage boys, but a horse was something he refused to ruin.

He pushed open his front door into the howling wind and pressed it shut as he got pegged with needle-like raindrops. He looked towards the field, but saw nothing. He frowned.

"Hello?" he called, but the wind carried his voice away. Another thunderclap answered him, the sound so intense he nearly fell to the ground. This was not the time to be outside. He grumbled curses to himself as he started back toward the house, wiping the rain from his eyes as he did so. Then he froze.

The horse was standing in front of him, towering higher than any horse he had ever seen before. Its massive black eyes were trained on him as it danced on its hooves, barely controlled by its cloaked rider. He swallowed, a sinister feeling creeping into the air around him. He could feel the rider staring at him, though the man could only guess where his eyes were in the shadows of his hood. The man's gaze shifted back to the horse and he jumped back. The strong, sleek animal it had been just moments before had disappeared, replaced by a horse so thin it looked more like a decaying corpse than a living animal. Its chest pulsed, its heart visibly beating under its skin. The man curled a lip in disgust, stepping away.

The horse reared suddenly, and the rider gave it a harsh kick, sending it into a swift gallop. The man watched in dumbfounded amazement as horse and rider disappeared into the cornfields, the horse's stride rivaling that of a champion thoroughbred, not the stride of sickly inbred dying of starvation.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, the man woke up and went about his normal duties, eating breakfast, reading the paper and putting on his clothes for a long day's work. He pushed open the door with a foot, still reading the daily news as he made his way to the barn, not needing to look up as he walked. He whistled a little tune to himself as he folded the paper under his arm and slid the door open to the barn He paused, smelling a sour twang in the air. It was oddly silent in the barn as he entered, not one of his ten horses nickered in greeting. 

_Probably still nervous from the storm,_ he thought, making his way to the feed room. He lifted his grain scooper and swiped up some grain, or, he tried to. He swiped again, but felt only air. He peered into the grain bin to find that it was empty. Odd. He shrugged and turned to grab a fresh bag from the shelf.

All of the bags were empty, crumpled, and deflated. He noticed that there was no feed anywhere, not even a piece of corn for a mouse to snatch up. He thought back to the rider and his dark horse. What thief stole horse feed but didn't take the feedbag? His pulse quickened, the sense of dread from the night before returning to him. He hurriedly stepped back into the main hallway and ran to one of the stalls.

Inside was his prized gelding, a beautiful bay that he'd paid an arm and a leg for. Now it was barely standing, ribs jutting from its side and its legs trembling with fatigue. Its eyes were sunken and bloodshot. He wouldn't have recognized it at all until he saw the little white splotch on its ear. It was his horse all right, but not the one he had left in the barn the night before. His breath quickened. How was this possible? It would take a solid month of no food to get his horses looking that sickly, certainly not a few hours. He checked the other stalls to find the other nine horses in a similar state, barely functioning.

He burst from the barn, looking wildly for any sign of the rider. He was met with a rusty brown cornfield, crackling in the wind in a sea of empty husks. He dropped to his knees in bewilderment as he noticed that all of his fields were dead, his entire crop ruined. In one fell swoop.

 

* * *

 

"I'm not calling them in again," Nick Fury's voice was firm as he stared out into the city street below.

"You said you would call them if the world needed them. We need them." A sharply dressed man sat at the desk, watching him with growing impatience.

"America's agricultural system was doomed to fail sometime. Practically all of our corn is the same gene type, one disease could have easily wiped it out," Fury growled.

"This isn't just corn, it’s everything. Strawberries, blueberries, peanuts, soybeans, everything. It’s not a disease, they just died. There's no pattern, just a mile-wide trail of dead crops." The man drummed his fingers on the desk.

Fury turned sharply, narrowing his eye at the man. "Okay, so if it isn't a disease, what is it?" he demanded.

The man cleared his throat, pulling a piece of paper from his briefcase and reading it aloud, _"When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, "Come and see!" I looked, and there before me was a black horse. Its rider was holding a pair of scales in hand. The I heard what sounded like—"_

"Hold on, are you trying to tell me that this is the start of the apocalypse? Are you _insane_?" Fury rubbed his temple. "You're all insane."

The man's lip twitched, folding the paper and putting it away. "It sounds strange, but we believe that's exactly what's happening. We have one witness, a man named Surly Hansen. He claims he saw a black horse with a rider, seemingly appearing out of nowhere in the middle of a thunderstorm."

Fury chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but you're believing some hick living in the middle of nowhere?"

The man smiled faintly, pulling a stack of photographs from the briefcase. "This was taken a week before the sighting at a horse show in Kentucky." He placed a picture of a gleaming chestnut horse, proudly standing next to an old man. "This is the same horse, two days after the sighting." He pulled out a second picture, one of a horse that looked closer to a skeleton than an animal. Nick shook his head in disbelief.

"Mr. Hansen's entire crop is gone, along with most of the neighbors' living north of him. Whole herds of cattle were starved overnight, including a slaughterhouse that produces a lot of red meat for this nation. The President wants something done about it. We're using our surplus to make sure production stays steady, but we can't keep it up for very long at the rate the fields are dying." The man folded his hands, glaring at him with a cold intensity he didn't much like.

Fury pursed his lips, staring down at the photographs. "I don't like this, and I don't think its something that the Avengers need to be called out for. It's a horse isn't it? Why don't you shoot it?"

The man shook his head. "We tried that. It doesn't respond to gunfire, RPGs, we even tried netting it just to slow it down. It burned though everything. It didn't even have to change its stride. It's a difficult situation, we can't fire a missile into the middle of a farm in Iowa."

"But you can send a band of superheroes that destroyed New York City? You guys are barely finished with preliminary repairs and you want to send them out again?"

"We need this stopped now, before anything worse gets loose," the man growled.

"Oh right, I forgot, it's the _four_ horsemen, isn't it? Well, where are they?"

"I'm not here to discuss whether or not the Bible has anything to do with this. I'm just here to tell you that we have something dangerous on the loose and it's heading north as fast as a car. A few more days and it will reach a major city and we'll have some real problems when people can't find any food to eat. “The man caught Nick's skeptic look and sighed, pulling a final photograph from his briefcase.

A jet-black horse, as skeletal as the others, galloping across a field. A rider was perched on its back, carrying a scepter with scales hanging from the end. Behind it, the plants were dead.

Fury blinked, leaning back in his chair. "I'll give them a call. "

The man smiled and began gathering his things, but Fury shot a hand out as the man reached for the photograph of the black horse. "But I'm not forcing them to come back."

 

* * *

 

 

"Now this,  _this_  is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Tony Stark stared at the screen in front of him, chuckling. "I know you want to see me again, but come on, at least come up with something plausible."

"I don't really believe it either, but whatever it is, it's killing off crops, starving animals and making food disappear. Its something I think we should check out." Fury's voice filled the workshop as Tony fiddled with one of the mini-jet engines in his suit’s boot. Tony shrugged, his attention turning to the tiny engine in front of him. God were they annoying when they started sputtering.

"Can't someone else take care of this? It's a horse for crying out loud, it can't take that much to blow it to smithereens." He leaned back, pointing into his webcam. "I can arrange that you know, if Big Brother over there is giving you a hard time with the whole, you know...budget thing. "

Fury sighed. "It’s not that simple. People will start to panic, NATO will have a fit if we start using missiles, even if it's on ourselves."

"Then we take the horse to them and let them have fun with it," Tony said with a shrug. He wasn't about to drop everything and go on another mission to stop a possessed horse, apocalypse or not.

"I'll brief you when you get here, you don't know the whole story yet. You might be less inclined to argue with me once you've heard everything."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure." He picked up a screwdriver, but the feeling of Fury glaring at him through the webcam was throwing off his focus. He sighed, placing the screwdriver on the worktable and turning to face the webcam again.

"Who else is coming in?"

"You're the only one I've called,” said Fury.

"Well, I'm flattered." He crossed his arms, then after a moment he shook his head. "Nope. Sorry Nick, I can't do it. You said you'd only call us when you really needed us, and I honestly don't see the threat in…whatever this thing is. Use a missile, blow it up, bam. Over."

"I told you, its not that simple—"

"Yeah, it is. If it's really such a big threat, then you wouldn't hesitate to blow the thing up. A little sacrifice of a few cornfields to save humanity doesn't seem that big of a deal. I only agreed to come back when the world is in danger. Now, if the other guys think it's something we should worry about, call me back."

"Tony." Fury’s voice was grave. "I need you to just listen—"

"Ah-ah." He put up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. Bye." Fury started to protest, but Tony tapped the screen, ending the call. He shook his head, returning to his worktable.

"Jarvis...I could use some good music right about now."

"Of course. I'll fetch something suitable from your playlist.”

"You're the best!"

The robot didn't reply and soon the sounds of rock n' roll were bouncing off the soundproof walls, leaving Tony Stark to work in peace, blissfully ignoring the rings as Fury tried to call him again.

After a few minutes of work, Jarvis halted the music. Tony looked up, hunched over his sophisticated boot. Pepper was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. He knew that look.

"So, are you just going to keep ignoring phone calls or is that just reserved for me?" she asked.

Tony's eyes widened. Shit. He was in a dangerous position, if he finished the final piece he had to replace then she would storm out and start her ranting about his obsession with his "alter ego" as she called it, and if he stopped his work...well the boot wouldn't get finished and he'd still get an earful.

"Jrrrvis," he growled around the screws in his mouth.

"Sorry, I assumed you didn't want to be disturbed," Jarvis answered.

Tony’s eyes narrowed and he spit the screws out onto his hand, reluctantly placing them next to the boot.

"Sorry, my artificially intelligent robot butler has proved once again that he's unworthy of being called 'intelligent.'"

Pepper pursed her lips, but her eyes softened a bit.

"What'd you need?" he asked, smiling.

"Nick Fury called me a minute ago," she said almost accusingly.

"Whoa, I told him—"

"He said he needs the Avengers back together."

"Yes, and did he tell you I said no? I said no. Really, I'm not kidding. He didn't tell you I said no, did he?"

"He said you refused to help him."

"Well good, I'm glad he's finally started telling the truth to people—"

"Why'd you tell him no?"

Tony opened his mouth, but found himself speechless, not expecting her to angry about it. He cocked an eyebrow. "Well, you told me the whole Avengers thing couldn't get out of hand, that's why."

"Crops dying, animals starving, what else could make it worse? I think it's a perfectly valid reason to join up again," Pepper said.

"The whole Loki incident was barely a month ago, it's a bit too soon for the world to be in perilous danger again. I told him—"

"All they need to do is blow it up," Pepper finished.

Tony nodded, "Yup, that's all they have to do." Pepper didn't look like that was news to her. "What do you want me to do? I told him how to fix the problem, I did my 'hero duty' for the day." He looked back to his boot, splayed out like a dissection experiment. "Now, I really need to get back to this."

"Is fixing your suit really more important than saving the world?"

He sighed, putting his hand on his head. "Well, if I can't wear the suit, how am I supposed to save the world?"

"Smartass." Pepper's smile returned, but it was the snarky kind that meant she was going to get her way. "When you're done, you better call him. He said he has a surprise for all of you when you get there."

 

* * *

 

The throne room in Asgard was as looming as ever, with high arched ceilings of plated gold, intricate carvings wrapping around every pillar and every square inch of palace floor. It was empty most of the day, which is why Thor liked it. No sounds of clinking metal to disturb his ponderings, and no disruptions unless something absolutely necessary came up. He didn't see why it couldn't be that way all the time, why citizens had to hunt him down in his chambers or approach him in the halls to bother him with meaningless problems. They had no idea of the gravity of his duties as crown prince, especially with Loki back in their realm.

His brother had adapted nicely since returning to Asgard, first as a prisoner and then as a citizen. Some of his advisors warned him against letting Loki out into the world again, but Thor knew his brother better than they did. And so far, it had worked; now Loki was acting as his second in command, though Thor's advisors didn't know it. He understood that it would take a long time for Loki cleanse his name, but his actions on Earth at the end of the battle had boded well with the Asgardian populace. But Loki was still malleable and too determined to prove to his worth, so Thor kept him on a short leash.

"Surely there is another species more suitable for me." Loki's voice broke his thoughts. Thor looked up from his spot where he was draped over the throne, bored and staring at the ceiling. Loki was sitting cross-legged in the center of the throne room, watching a chubby kitten as it pawed a bit of string.

"Nonsense, brother, I think it is quite fitting for you," Thor replied with a chuckle.

Loki flashed him a glare, then turned back to the kitten. "If you had to get me a feline, why not something more…intimidating? A jaguar would make an exquisite pet."

"No, no. Midgard needs its jaguars, but these little creatures, these are overpopulated as it is."

"I could crush it by speaking too loud," Loki complained, frowning as he watched the tiny fuzzball struggle to get back on its paws. He reached out a hand, picking it up and flipping it right side up.

"You must learn to speak quietly then," Thor laughed, watching as the kitten pounced on Loki's cape. Loki curled a lip in disgust, and promptly pulled the green fabric away. The kitten jumped up to give chase, but the polished floor was too slick and it tumbled onto its belly. Loki's eyes flashed, but he pulled his cape further away until it was sitting bundled on his lap and away from the tiny claws.

"So cruel, brother." Thor clucked in mock disapproval, shaking his head. Loki rolled his eyes, looking out into the heart of Asgard and all of her splendor. His eyes clouded.

"They will kill me. We both know it.” Loki's voice was barely a whisper, but Thor had no trouble hearing him. Thor stood, and with the flick of his wrist Mjolnir was resting in his palm. It had been weeks since his brother had mentioned his actions on Earth, but Thor had seen it lingering in those deceptive green eyes of his.

"They will not kill you because I am your brother and they would not dare to trespass against me."

Loki gave a little snort, folding his hands together.

"Besides, you are a god, just as I am. They cannot kill you. Now let us go to our evening meal before it grows cold."

For a moment it seemed as if Loki hadn't heard him, but then he slowly got to his feet, though he still looked distracted. Thor frowned, not pleased that his brother was wallowing in guilt. He would never improve if he dwelled in the past, Thor would know.

"Loki, you—"

"Someone draws near." Loki was staring intently at the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly. Thor gripped Mjolnir, but could hear nothing. After a few moments of silence, the sound of heavy footsteps began to sound. Thor looked to his brother, but Loki was still rooted in the spot, brow furrowed.

An Asgardian dwarf appeared, breathing laboriously and covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Heimdal has sent me," the dwarf panted, dropping to one knee.

"What has he told you? Speak," Thor commanded, fearing the worst. Heimdal was a solitary warrior; he did not call attention to anything unless it was necessary.

"He says you are being called. He said to see him immediately."

Thor looked to his brother, who was still staring at the dwarf with uncertainty."Our meal can wait. Let us make haste to the bridge."

 

 

 

 

Thor and Loki dismounted form their steeds, approaching Heimdal, who was standing at the end of the broken bridge, staring into the universe.

"Heimdal, why have you called us?"

The gatekeeper turned, his bright orange eyes scanning the brothers. "I sent for you, Thor, not for  _him_." Heimdal's gaze shifted to his brother. Loki flinched. Thor took a definitive step forward.

"Whatever you say to me, you can say to my brother, Heimdal," Thor snapped. Heimdal blinked.

"Of course, Crown Prince. My mistake."

"Now, what is it that you have seen?"

"The world is once again in danger. The Avengers are being called again,” said the gatekeeper.

Thor sighed. "I have not come all this way for a jest." Heimdal merely blinked at him, and Thor felt a quiver of annoyance run up his spine.

"It has not been a moon since our last battle!"

"I assure you, this threat is of great importance to Midgard. Nick Fury awaits your arrival."

Thor scowled, very displeased. How could they be in such dire need so soon? Didn't they remember he had his own kingdom to care for?

"I'll stay." Loki blurted out. "I'll look after Asgard while you deal with them."

Thor shook his head. "Sorry, brother, but you are hardly in the position to make such a call. You will come with me, it is time you were assessed in your ability act honorably."

Loki's eyes widened and he went pale, shaking his head. "No. I will  _not_  go back there."

Thor put a hand on his brother's shoulder, smiling warmly. "Remember what I told you."

"They can do much worse than murder. I'd rather be put in that box again than set foot in a room with the likes of them," Loki hissed.

Thor cuffed him on the head. "You don't have a choice, you're coming with me."

Loki shook his head, stepping back. "I can't go back there, not yet."

"Perhaps he is right," Heimdal chimed in, "Perhaps keeping him here would be—"

"Silence!" Thor commanded, his voice booming, Heimdal nodded curtly, not daring to open his mouth again, though he did seem bitter about it. Thor turned to his little brother, feeling his blood boil. He knew what Loki was capable of, and dealing with the Avengers would be nothing compared to dealing with the people of Asgard.

"We depart immediately. Heimdal, tell the others of our whereabouts and ensure that Asgard is clear of unrest while we are away." He turned to Loki once more, feeling a lash of guilt as he saw the look of discomfort on his brother's face. But this was what was best for him, and if Loki truly wanted to overcome the past, he would have to come in contact with the Avengers sooner or later. He offered a weak smile, but Loki's emerald green eyes were staring wide-eyed at the floor, no doubt imagining the kind of welcome he would receive on Earth.

 

* * *

 

It had been a long month for the Super Soldier, and quite frankly it had been exhausting. He'd barely scraped the surface in 21st century technology, though now he could operate an "old-fashioned" flip phone pretty well. Texting was still alien to him, and he couldn't talk to much of anyone except for Tony Stark and Bruce Banner about technology because he wasn't really sure if what he was talking about had even been released to the public yet. None of his neighbors knew about flying aircraft carriers, that was for sure. But then again, none of his neighbors knew a thing about technology either, except when their grandkids came to visit.

At first he was totally against the idea of living in a retirement village just outside of NYC, but now he was thankful Bruce was so insistent on it.  _"Just for the stress, ya know? People your age don't know what's going on technologically, people who **look**  your age do. You'd be the outcast of every social group in New York City." _He'd still ended up an outcast, with most of his neighbors offering nothing more than an early morning greeting and giving him skeptical looks as he went for a morning run. He'd decided against telling them his true identity, and it was actually refreshing to be scolded once in awhile, though most of these people hadn’t even been born when he was frozen in time.

SHIELD took care of all of his expenses, and refused to allow him to get a normal day job, just in case it was targeted by the next threat. It hardly seemed fair that he couldn't have a desk job but Stark Industries could go on expanding and plastering Iron Man on every street corner. But he was never one to question orders, so he spent his time trying to catch up with the world he'd been absent from for seventy years. He hadn't even made it to the 1960s, and every time he opened his history book it felt like he was reading a fantasy novel. America had gone from fighting Germany to Russia, a country he'd barely heard on the frontlines as he charged after Hitler and Red Skull. It still felt like a different reality, and he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night wondering why he couldn't hear the sound of gunfire.

He occasionally got together with Stark for a "night on the town," Stark's version of high-class barhopping. Steve wasn't really into getting drunk enough to cause bar fights, given he could kill someone if he punched them too hard (not that he could get drunk anyway). Tony sure didn't care; he would start swinging out of the blue if Steve didn't keep an eye on him. If Tony didn't buy so much expensive alcohol he would probably be banned from every bar in the city, which would have been fine with Steve.

He rounded the corner, nearing the final stretch of his morning jog. He ran more out of habit, running was something relatively normal to him, but it never came close to making him tired. Sometimes it was aggravating when he got stares for his sprint-like pace, and he would wish people would just mind their own business. Other times he found himself craving attention and was tempted to stand up and tell everyone that they should be thanking him for saving their lives. But he never did, knowing how dangerous pride could be. Not to mention the very thought of boasting about himself made his stomach churn. He was always pegged as the loyal, responsible one, and it was an honorable position, but sometimes he just wanted to scream at people. Just like everybody else.

"Hello, Mr. Rogers!" He was snapped from his thoughts, looking to the source of the willowy voice. Gladys Farr, his next-door neighbor, was stooped over in her garden, offering a wave and a smile. She had to be close to 90 years old, but she was the nicest person in the neighborhood. She made sure to greet him whenever he was nearby, and every Friday she left a pile of piping hot cookies on his doorstep when he got back from his errands.

"Hello ma'am," he replied with a smile, slowing his pace as he approached his door.

"I'll be sure to keep an eye on things while you're gone, you can count on me!"

He stopped, cocking en eyebrow. "Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere ma'am."

She shook her head, and motioned to the door. "I'll see you when you get back."

Steve shrugged, figuring Gladys was just having a moment of forgetfulness. He pushed open the door, whistling to himself as he headed for the kitchen. _Huh, I thought I locked it this morning._

"About time you got home." He jumped at the voice, searching wildly for the source. If someone was breaking into his house...they were about to be sorely mistaken.

"In the dining room," the voice came again. He groaned, recognizing it as Natasha Romanoff. He stepped in the dining room with a polite smile, but his gaze turned cold as he saw what she was doing. She was poking at the last of his blueberry cobbler he'd bought at the neighborhood charity dinner last week. He'd been it saving for dinner, but now only a lone sugary, syrup-drenched blueberry remained. He watched her push it around her plate, deciding whether or not it was worth eating.

"I assume you aren't here for a social visit," he said darkly.

"What makes you say that?"

"You're sitting in my house, eating the last of my blueberry cobbler. That I didn't give you permission to eat. Oh yeah, and you picked the lock on my front door, so you broke into my house to eat the blueberry cobbler I didn't give you permission to eat."

Natasha shrugged, a smile tugging at her lips. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd miss it." She popped the blueberry in her mouth, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

"So what are you here for?" he sighed, sitting in the chair next to her.

She smiled faintly."The Avengers are needed again."

He groaned, resting his chin on his crossed arms. "What for?"

"You'll be briefed back at headquarters. I'm not authorized to talk about it here," she replied with her usual over-professional tone. He really didn't want to deal with intergalactic space aliens again, or whatever else was plaguing the earth this time. But that wasn't his decision.

After a moment, he nodded, "Okay, I'm in."

Natasha blinked. "I forgot you were so...accepting."

"I said I'd come back in if the needed me," he snapped in reply. "Wait a minute, why'd they send you?"

She stood up, shaking her head. "I guess they thought you'd need convincing."

Typical. Leave it to SHIELD. to send the Black Widow to threaten him. They really needed to start cutting him some slack. He was definitely going to have a talk with Fury—sending someone to intimidate him was unnecessary and uncalled for. Natasha tapped his shoulder as she walked by, signaling that he'd better get moving. He craned his head back as he exhaled, staring at the ceiling. At least he'd be able to see some people he knew, though something told him this time was going to be different. Hopefully that meant there wouldn't be so much fighting this time around. He stood up, giving his house one last look before following Natasha out the door.

"Come on, I need to get you back before Tony finds you."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" Steve asked, puzzled.

Natasha shook her head, chuckling."You'll see what I mean."

 Steve wasn't quite sure what she was getting at, and the smirk on her lips did nothing to help the situation. Natasha seemed to like that he was getting annoyed, which made him suspicious. He barely worked with her during the last Avengers mission, but she was acting like she was still trying to intimidate him, which he didn't understand. He tensed as they approached a sleek black sports car, but got inside anyway. After all, he was Mr. Obedient, what else would he do?

  

* * *

 

 

Bruce Banner peered into the end of a test tube, watching the solution turn from clear to dark blue. He smiled warmly, handing it back to the little boy jumping up and down in front of him.

"That is so _cool_!"

Bruce laughed, "Its just a PH test, there's a lot more cool stuff in science."

The boy nodded enthusiastically, pressing his nose to the tiny tube to try and see better. "I'm gonna be just like you! A real scientist!"

Bruce smiled weakly. No one wanted to be like him, not even little kids. Even they knew that turning into an uncontrollable green monster wasn't something to look up to. He couldn't help but appreciate the boy's kindness though, and it did feel good to hear someone say they wanted to be like him, even if they were blissfully ignorant of his character flaw.

"That's great. I look forward to working with you someday,” he said.

The little boy beamed up at him, then ran back to the huddle of gawking children staring at their own test tubes. His teaching job had started as a joke, well, actually as a bet. Tony had bet him that he couldn't survive in a classroom full of kids longer than he could. Banner was beginning to think Stark had been a little tipsy at the time, considering he hadn't lasted two days once kids figured out he was the real Iron Man. Tony couldn't stand to be away from his "real work" for very long anyway—Bruce could understand that. At one point he would've said the said the same thing, he remembered days when he forgot to eat because he was so busy pouring over theorems and formulas. Now things were different. He liked working with kids; they had problems as simple as their water not turning blue for a PH test. He liked the feeling of being in charge, and always being able to answer their questions. Of course, as Tony liked to point out, he could show real scientists all the answers too, but other scientists liked to argue too much. Kids only argued about minor things. He never got stressed here, but he could still feel like he was doing something. It was liberating.

"Excuse me, Mr. Banner?" He looked up to see the school secretary fidgeting in the doorway.

He cocked his head, concerned."Yes?"

The secretary looked immensely uncomfortable. "Um, Mr. Banner," she swallowed, breaking into an unconvincing smile, "Tony Stark is here to see you."

Tony appeared in the doorway, sporting classy sunglasses and a wide smile. He murmured something to the secretary as he passed and her face turned bright red.

"Thanks." Bruce waved a hand to dismiss her. She nodded before quickly jumping away and vanishing into the hallway.

"Hey, how's the illegal teaching job?" Tony smirked, sidestepping a little boy who went diving after a dropped pencil.

"It's not illegal. I explained that already, I'm just acting as a temporary—"

"Yeah, yeah. Still don't care. " Stark teased, edging away from the kids as they began to notice who he was.

Bruce chuckled, beginning to fiddle with the tester kit next to him. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to stop by, you know, to see how you're doing."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So…how are you doing?"

"Fine, thanks. We were just about to talk about quantum physics before you walked in."

"Oh, feeling a little sassy today, are we?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

Bruce laughed. "Sorry." The bell rang, signaling the start of recess. The kids who ventured close to see if it was really Iron Man quickly turned away and went scampering toward the door. Tony relaxed, glad to be out of the spotlight. Bruce lifted his chin toward the door, placing the test kit down and jamming his hands in his pockets, following the stragglers toward the playground. Tony fell in step next to him.

They found a bench on the outskirts of the playground and sat. Bruce kept an eye on the games of tag, four square, and even the occasional "superhero" that whizzed by. Tony sat next to him in silence, lounging on the bench as if he hadn't a care in the world. Exactly what Bruce had feared. Whenever Tony was pretending to be normal, that meant something was wrong.

"Well, spit it out," Bruce said quietly.

"There's nothing to spit out, Green Man."

Bruce's lips twitched with the hint of a smile. "Really…so you just came down here to visit me by sitting there in silence. Nice try, Rust Bucket."

Tony rubbed his chin. Bruce waited fro him to say something, but he didn't. A kid ran by, screaming about how he wasn't "it" and it "wasn't fair". Tony exhaled in annoyance. Bruce chuckled.

"I honestly don't understand how you like it here. Seriously, I just want to smack them, all of them. They're so…annoying. And loud. Annoying and loud."

"You get used to it," Bruce grinned. Tony rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat. Something was definitely eating at him.

"They want to get the Avengers back together," Tony blurted out. "There, I said it."

Bruce felt his blood run cold, his lighthearted mood vanishing, replaced with a feeling of doom. He could feel the monster inside him shift, like he'd jostled it in its slumber. Tony really picked a bad place to break that one on him.

"Did they say why?" It felt like his throat was closing up.

"Yeah, Famine," Tony said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Famine. One of the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse, you know? Destroys crops, makes food disappear, starves the fauna. A real Bambi killer."

Bruce turned, finally meeting Tony's shaded eyes. "You're kidding."

Tony smiled with a shrug. Bruce sighed.

"You're supposed to come with me back to headquarters. I've got a helicopter waiting."

Bruce shook his head, pressing his knuckles to his lips.

"Unless helicopter rides make the big guy angry,” said Tony.

"Nah, not unless it starts to crash. Or maybe if you have a bad pilot."

"Best pilot in the world."

"Let me guess, you're the pilot." Bruce rolled his eyes.

"See? I knew I liked you." Tony thumped him on the shoulder as Bruce laughed. "Come on, I already got you a substitute teacher and everything."

Tony stood and Bruce followed after a brief pause. "What would you have done if I said no?"

Stark shrugged. "Wouldn't matter, I said no too."


	2. Chapter 2

Nick Fury paced anxiously around the room, eyeing the clock every time he passed the door. Clint Barton sat with his feet propped up on a massive chrome table, staring boredly in front of him. Nick walked by again.

"Pacing around like that isn't going to make them get here any faster," Clint said tiredly.

"I appreciate your insight, Hawkeye," Nick snapped sarcastically. Clint shifted in his seat, lips in a sly smile. "I just don't like that they haven't shown up yet. Any of them. "

"They will," Clint said with a nod, as if he had to reassure himself. "At least, Natasha will."

"If Stark hasn't gotten there first," Nick said darkly.

"Why are you so worried about Stark? What's he going to do, blast off with Captain America? We both know Steve would see right through that one."

"I'm not worried about him  _doing_  something, I'm worried about him saying something," Nick growled, pivoting around to pace back toward him.

"Like what?"

Nick opened his mouth to answer, but the click of the door interrupted him. Natasha entered with an unsatisfied scowl, followed by a nervous-looking Steve Rogers. Natasha pulled up a chair next to him, folding her hands as she sat down. Cap must not have put up a fight; he could tell when she had been promised a conflict and hadn't gotten one. Their affinity with missions was probably why they worked so well together, Clint couldn't stay cooped up for long and neither could she. Natasha's eyes narrowed as she looked to Nick.

"Found him." She offered a sour smile. Clint could help but chuckle in amusement at her annoyance.

"Yeah, Nick, she found me. What was that all about anyway? Did you think I was going to say no or something?" Steve demanded. The Captain looked good for a guy thrown into another time, though Clint could hear a tired tone to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"It wasn't about you, it was Stark. I couldn't have him getting to you before we did, it was too much of a risk."

"Oh? What were you afraid of, that he was going to tell me what's really going on here?"

Nick's jaw clenched, and Clint thought he might just slap the Captain across the face. Rogers held Fury's one-eyed stare for a heartbeat before he finally spoke,

"Stark doesn't know the extent of the situation."

Steve scowled, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. Clint sighed, drumming he table with his fingers.

"Come on boys, we have a serious problem on our hands. I thought we got all the cat fights over with," said Clint. That seemed to strike something in Rogers, and the soldier's eyes softened, his angry demeanor relaxed with a loud sigh. He sat down at the end of the table and began picking at his shirt, almost embarrassed. Rogers was one strange guy, Clint thought with a smile, but he liked him.

"I'll wait for the rest of them to arrive before I brief you, I don't want to explain everything more than I have to."

The Captain nodded once, still avoiding Nick's gaze. The room went silent, and Clint doubted anyone would say a word before Tony or Thor showed up. He hadn't expected such a touchy atmosphere, and he couldn't help but think Natasha had caused Steve's suspicions. She should have known better than to let him get nervous like that. Rodgers could be worse than Banner when he was stressed.

It wasn't too long before the door swung open again and the room filled with the sound of Tony's nonchalant laughter. Bruce walked in behind him, giving a shy wave to Nick as he entered. Tony's laughter cut short as he saw Steve.

"Really?" Tony groaned, "I told you I was going to go get him!"

Nick simply glared at him, not bothering to voice a response.

"Tony," Steve greeted flatly, glancing at Nick as he did so.

"It's been awhile, Spangles!" Tony ruffled Steve's hair as he walked by. Steve tried to duck away, cracking into a grin anyway. Tony flung out a chair, dropping into it like a pile of bricks. He pulled down his sunglasses, as if trying to get a clearer view of the room. "Hey, do guys have any drinks around here?"

"No, we don't," Nick growled.

"Okay fine," Tony pushed his glasses back, "I just flew a helicopter with the airsick muscle monster over here and I don't even get a drink. You guys really need to work on your hospitality."

"I wasn't airsick…" Bruce murmured. Tony dismissed him with the flick of a wrist.

"Whatever, I saw you grab on to your seatbelt like a little schoolgirl." Bruce smiled lightly, shaking his head. "Hey, that reminds me, Bruce here has been teaching a science class over on the East Side. Well, its illegal, but still, pretty nice right?"

"Its not illegal," Bruce objected.

"That's great, congratulations," Steve smiled.

Clint cleared his throat and the conversation stopped.

"Thank you, Clint," said Nick, pulling out a case file. "Thor should be here soon enough, according to our electromagnetic sensors anyway. Once he arrives, you'll all be getting a case file like this one on your screens." Six Stark-esque glass monitors rose from the table in front of each of them. Tony immediately started sifting through files. "I haven't put it on the system yet, Stark," Nick announced, wiggling a flashdrive. Tony stopped his tampering and pushed back from the table, frowning.

"After that, I'll brief you on the new developments and the current status of this mission. It's important that we clean this up quickly, so I don't want any funny business, understand?"

No one moved except Tony, who shrugged. "Sorry, it comes with the package."

"I should think you can contain yourself for ten minutes without making it into some kind of game, Stark."

"Get me a drink and we'll call it a deal," Tony smirked. Nick's eyes narrowed. He punched the call button underneath the table, a miniscule movement that even Clint barely noticed.

"Bring a drink to the conference room," Nick commanded.

"A drink?" a voice replied on speaker.

"Yes," Tony interrupted, "Scotch, if you have any!"

"Don't give him anything—" Steve started, but Tony jumped in again.

"Three ice cubes! Make it look nice!"

Steve sank back in his seat with a sigh as Nick ended the call. Clint stifled a laugh; even Natasha broke into a smile. Suddenly, the building began to tremble slightly. They all looked to the ceiling as though Thor might drop in through the roof as the rumbling continued. With a loud crack of thunder, the mini-quake stopped.

"Good, he's here. We can finally get started," Bruce said cheerfully. He seemed to be the only one looking forward to the briefing. Clint had heard it already, and Nick had already advised him to try and convince the others to go along with the plan. Natasha knew too, but something told him she wasn't going to be very supportive. She'd already gotten into an argument with Fury when she'd been called in; only accepting his offer after Clint took her aside.

Nick stood up suddenly, pressing a hand to his earpiece. He glanced at Clint before heading for the door. Clint tensed, knowing immediately that something was wrong.

"Where are you going?" Steve demanded as Nick opened the door.

"Just stay here."

"Yeah, Spangles, asking questions isn't allowed," Tony growled, glaring at Fury.

"Please, just stop. We're all here; we're all going to have to go on a mission. No use getting angry about it," said Bruce gently.

"He's right," Natasha agreed. Nick slipped from the room, and Clint heard running footsteps of SHEILD agents going by. He glanced at Natasha, who gave a tiny shrug. Tony gave a dramatic sigh, placing his glasses on the table and rubbing his eyes. Steve kept looking at the door, squirming in his seat. He must've caught a glimpse of the chaos outside. Luckily, Stark hadn't.

Clint cleared his throat once more, looking to Bruce. "So, what's it like dealing with kids all day?"

"Great, I actually really like it. A lot different from…well, here."

Clint chuckled, "I can imagine."

"What have you been up to since Loki's visit?"

He could think of a thousand answers to that question. Recurring nightmares plaguing his sleep of him being under Loki's spell, minor missions, manhunts, intel recovery, more nightmares. Every minute he spent in the outside world, every second standing in a crowd of military personnel, he waited for one of them to recognize him as the man who nearly shot down the helicarrier. For their eyes to go wide, pupils dilating in fear, and he couldn't remember a second of it. All he could remember was Loki's face, those serpent-green eyes locking with his, a blue light, then nothingness. He'd killed a lot of people, he knew it. Natasha had tried to steer him away from guilt, but he knew he'd taken men and women away from their families. He was just as much the villain and the Asgardian scumbag.

"The usual," he replied with a fake smile. Bruce nodded in understanding.

Something slammed into the metal door, causing all of them to jump to attention. Clint heard a booming battle cry and relaxed. Thor.

"Looks like Thunderboy isn't happy about this either," Tony said gravely, rubbing his chin. The door rattled as the Thor took another swing, and Nick's muffled voice was heard, commanding for the god to stop. The door shook again and a dent appeared in the center. Bruce swallowed, shriveling in his seat as he tried to calm down. With a final blow the door fell away, revealing a heavily breathing Thor and a swarm of agents.

"The door was open…" Steve offered, looking at the crumpled piece of steel.

Thor shot him a deadly glare as he adjusted the grip on his hammer. "Where is he?"

"Where is who?" Tony asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I demand an answer!" Thor bellowed.

Nick exhaled, shutting his eye. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, we don't have him."

"Who?" Tony asked again, flicking his gaze back and forth between the god and man.

"I'm here, brother." The voice sent a chill up his spine, making his blood go cold. A figure appeared at the end of the table, and Clint knew exactly who it was. He looked frightened, but there was no mistaking the ravenous form of Thor's adopted sibling. Loki blinked slowly as he scanned the room, as if waiting to be attacked.

Clint was happy to oblige. He shot from his seat, pulling a dagger from his belt in one fluid motion. He lunged across the table, eyes wild with rage. Loki looked like a deer in headlights as the silver of his blade swung through the air, but just as it was about to connect, Clint was tackled to the ground, watching as his knife plummeted to the ground with a clunk.

"Get off of me!" Clint snarled, struggling under the weight of Steve Rogers. He reached hungrily for the knife, but Thor plucked it from the ground away from him. It was useless, he was no match for Steve's brute strength, the man was probably in a whole different weight class. He was still tense, but no longer trying to fight. Steve carefully stepped off of him, watching for him to jump again. When he didn't, the Captain offered a hand.

"What the hell is he doing here!" Clint hissed, standing up himself. Loki stood frozen, not daring to look anywhere but the floor.

"I've brought him to accompany me for this quest," Thor said defiantly, his blue eyes blazing.

"No way. He'll get us all killed." Natasha shook her head.

"He's hardly trustworthy," Bruce added, casting a furtive glance at Thor.

"And you are?" Thor lashed back. Bruce flinched and looked away.

"Hey, don't talk to him like that!" Tony interjected, eyes narrowed.

"Its fine, I understand."

"No, it isn't," Tony stabbed a finger at Bruce, "Show some fight, Green Man."

"Humility is a noble attribute, one you should consider," Thor growled, his voice rising again.

"Says the guy who went hammering through the door," Tony quipped, stepping forward.

"Both of you, knock it off," Steve commanded. Both men broke their staredown to look at Rogers, who once again showed why he was a leader with his authoritative aura.

"Thor, you can't honestly expect us to work with your brother after what happened. Especially when New York is still bleeding."

"I saw no blood!"

Steve exhaled coolly, trying to keep his voice collected. "Not literally bleeding, Thor. I meant New York is still broken from his last visit. People are still afraid of him." All eyes turned to Loki as he winced at the Captain's words.

"It is a chance for him to start anew," Thor's voice softened.

"A chance he doesn't deserve," said Tony.

"Without him, your Earth would be overrun by Chitauri!"

"No, he would be the one in charge of all the chia pets. All he did was get beaten to a pulp and sit there while we took his magic staff and shut the portal down. "

Thor said nothing, his face downcast. Tony was right, and they all knew it. Loki still looked petrified, but appeared to be paying attention, though he made no move to speak. Thor turned away and Steve sighed, unsure of what to do.

"He can stay with me." Bruce's voice broke the tense silence, talking as if Loki were a friend looking for a roommate. Tony looked incredulous, not believing what had just come out of the man's mouth. "He can't do anything to me, and I can't kill him. Its perfect."

"No, Bruce, you don't have to do that," Steve said with a frown, "He can go with us, but he doesn't get any weapons." The Captain looked to Tony, who gave a disgruntled approval.

"Fine," Natasha's voice sounded next to him. He couldn't believe it! How could these self-proclaimed heroes let their archenemy fight alongside them? He still had scars from shrapnel and burns from his time under Loki's brainwashing! He shook his head.

"Clint—" Natasha started, put he raised a hand for her to stop.

"No. I'll kill him before I agree to team up with him. What is wrong with all of you? He probably has something to do with this anyway! He's a master liar, remember?" Clint could feel his blood boiling. He gave Loki a look of disgust before shoving his way to the door. No one tried to stop him.

As he stormed into the hallway, Nick was there to meet him. "Hey, the Avengers are back together, but they decided to put Loki on the team and vote me off the island. " Clint snarled.

"Clint, this mission can't happen without you—"

"Oh, I know it can't," Clint seethed, pushing Nick out of his way. "That's why I'm taking care of it myself." He pressed on through the hallway, heading straight for the armory. Loki was about to put the entire world in jeopardy, again, and he wasn't going to stick around to be brainwashed a second time. Famine was out there and needed killing, and he was not going to fail a mission this important, Avengers or no Avengers. He'd survived his life without them; he certainly didn't need them now.


	3. Chapter 3

Nick Fury got his silent briefing, not even Tony Stark uttered a word after Clint's departure. They were informed that one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse was heading toward New York City. Crops were killed in a mile-wide radius wherever the rider passed through, food vanished, and animals were diminished to an emaciated state. Civilians were being evacuated as a precaution, but the horseman had not passed near any major cities. He seemed to be only interested in New York and even adjusted his route to avoid Atlanta. SHEILD agents were tracking him from a safe distance, with a constant video feed for researchers to examine. Nick further explained that they had tried Tony's idea of sending missiles; the horse had fallen to the ground, then immediately regained its footing and continued its charge. Their mission was to stop the horseman before he could do further damage. After the briefing, the discussion between the Avengers, and Loki, was short.

"We accept," Thor announced suddenly, his booming voice jarring the others from their silence. Loki gave a curt nod in agreement.

"Me too. It shouldn't take too long, and we'll get a chance to fix a problem," Bruce agreed.

"Clint's out there, I'm not going refuse a mission he's already accepted." Natasha's voice was distant, and Tony noticed that she hadn't even looked at the screens as Nick went through the case file. Yeah, he'd seen the glances between her and Clint; it was practically common knowledge that they had something going on. Not that anyone would mention it, not even he, the smart-mouthed Tony Stark, would dare speak about it to Natasha. She was the type of woman who rejected the idea of a relationship, but she was still a woman so she had found her own little loophole. That didn't mean she wouldn't skin him alive if he called her out on it.

"Same, I'm not letting Hawkeye get all the glory on this one." He leaned back in his chair in a stretch, eager to get in his suit and on the move. The faster he got back home, the better.

"Like I said, I'm in," Bruce shrugged. Only Steve had yet to answer, but the Captain was staring into space, his blue eyes blank. He got that look sometimes when they went out, and Tony had found the only way to throw him from it was to give him a lighthearted (drunken) punch on the arm. Tony cleared his throat.

"So, you in, Stripes?"

Steve jumped, blinking away whatever thoughts were running through his head. He quickly stood up, moving as though he were searching for something.

"Cap?" Nick asked, brow furrowing in confusion. Tony was also wearing a puzzled expression, if anyone was going to accept this mission, it would be Steve Rogers. Mr. Leading-Us-All-To-Victory, the stupidly confident Super Soldier, everyone's favorite old-time hero. He was not the guy to hesitate on anything.

"I…I need a minute to think," said Steve, finally gathering his thoughts. "I'll be right back." He hurried from the room, and Tony caught the look of desperation on his face as he walked out. Before Nick could comprehend what had happened, Tony stood up.

"I'll handle this one." He grabbed his sunglasses from the table as he left the room, leaving Natasha and Bruce to deal with Loki on their own. Even though he'd agreed to let the lesser Asgardian stay, he still felt a prickle of worry as he followed Steve through the chrome corridors of SHEILD headquarters. The Captain became steadily more panicked as he continued twisting through a maze of hallways, trying door after door to no avail. When he finally found an open room he shoved his way inside like he was being chased. Tony gave a quick glance up and down the hallway in case some SHEILD agents had gotten suspicious, then entered what appeared to be an interrogation room. Steve was leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool concrete, eyes closed.

"What's it take to find a window in here?" Steve laughed nervously.

"I don't think Nick has the same appreciation for windows as someone with two eyes," Tony smirked. The Captain gave a good-natured snort, but it was obvious he hadn't found it amusing. Oh well, he couldn't please everyone.

"Its like everyone around here just wants to close themselves up and forget about everyone else," Steve's hand clenched into a fist, eyes flying open again. "That happened to me! That happened to me that and it was awful!"

Tony cocked his head, a flash of concern in his dark eyes. It didn't seem like Bruce was going to be the fractured one this time around.

"Its like nobody remembers that this isn't where I'm supposed to be. I'm supposed to be dead, god dammit, not parading around with all of you!" Steve slammed his fist into the concrete with enough force to shatter a normal man's hand. His knuckles lingered against the rock for a moment. Then, he deflated, slumping against the wall with a deep exhale.

"Hey, look, if you don't want to do this—" Tony started, but Steve shook his head violently.

"No, I want to." He seemed to stop himself from saying anything more.

"Yeah? Look, I know when something's bothering you." Tony was not a sentimental man in the least, but he found himself crouching down next to his friend, making sure Steve was looking him in the eyes. "Tell me what's up, before I walk back in there and tell them you've gotten drunk on appletinis." That brought out a real laugh this time, but the Captain still looked horrible in the dank lighting of the interrogation room. Tony offered a light smile, "Seriously, spit it out."

Steve let out a shaky sigh, pulling himself back together. "I want to do this mission, but I don't think we should. Loki was one thing, but this is different."

"Yeah, how?"

"Loki wasn't God."

Tony groaned, putting a hand to his forehead and sighing in frustration. "There you go again."

"This isn't a joke, Tony. It's the apocalypse."

"So what do you want us to do, sit back and watch?"

Steve blinked. "That's exactly what I think we should do. Look, we can try all we want, but we aren't going to kill that thing if He doesn't want us to."

"Are you serious? Tony asked, scanning Steve's face. The Captain's bloodshot eyes stared back. "Oh god, you  _are_  serious." He rubbed his temple as he continued, "Okay, I'll pretend this isn't the worst, most insane excuse I've ever heard. Okay? Okay."

He leaned closer until he was in Steve's face, poking him in the chest. "What if it's a test? Did you think about that? The Big Man could end the world by snapping his finger, right? So why is he giving us a chance?"

"It has to follow Revelations—"

"Oh please, would He really care about that? Its not like we would know the difference, we'd either be sitting around in heaven or burning in hell. But He's not ending the world, he's giving us Famine on a silver platter and inviting us to take a bite, pardon the fantastic pun," he paused, marveling at his cunning intellect for a moment, just as any man should when he makes a spontaneous joke. He blinked, his face returning to a serious expression. "If He didn't want you to do something about it, you'd still be a human popsicle!"

The Captain desperately searched for a response, but couldn't find one. Tony willed himself not to smile at his little pep talk as he saw the normal Steve Rogers begin to return.

"I need you with me, okay? We all need you, Loki especially. If it weren't for you Clint would have gotten him with that knife and we'd still be duking it out in there. You're the only one who can even  _look_  at that guy without wanting to punch him. Golden Boy trusts you because you let his brother on the team. Bruce Banner is with you, hell, you got Natasha Romanoff to let Clint Barton walk out on her. They all trust you, and right now you're all that's holding this together. They can't see you looking wishy-washy on this. I mean come on, did they teach you anything in the forties?"

Steve chuckled as Tony stood up, offering a hand. As he pulled him up and turned to leave Steve gripped his arm.

"Hey," Tony turned with a bemused expression at Rogers' voice, "Sorry. That was my fault; I shouldn't have acted like that. In the briefing room or in here, that was totally inappropriate and uncalled for. You're right—"

"Shut up, Spangles. And rub your eyes, you look like a stoner."

"A what?"

Tony shoved him out the door. "Just rub your eyes and get back in there so we can get this started. I'll catch up and pretend I went to go get that drink." Steve nodded, hurrying away toward the briefing room. As Tony watched him go he felt a rare pang of sympathy for the guy; he was leading a group of self-led people and he was in the dark, navigating a new world from the past _. Good luck._

* * *

The guttural roar of the engine drowned out the sound of the crackling cornhusks and the soft chirp of crickets as Clint raced through the farmland on a SHEILD motorcycle. It hadn't taken much effort to locate the agents in charge of tracking Famine, two men who looked as though they'd just come from graduate school. Easy to manipulate. In less than an hour he'd gotten the coordinates he needed, the direction of travel and the bike. He veered left and into the cornfield, flattening a narrow trail through the jungle of stalks. It didn't matter what happened to these fields, Famine was on his way and the farmers who owned the land were being evacuated to an "Urgent Agricultural Seminar," SHEILD's cover up to ensure the public didn't start getting suspicious. One of the agents even mentioned that they were telling everyone that a poisonous underground river was killing off all the plants; the worst part was that people actually believed it.

He still couldn't fathom how the rest of the Avengers had decided to let Loki stay, especially Natasha. That was a hell of a backstabbing if he'd ever seen one. Of all people, she knew what had happened to him, yet she hadn't given him so much as a second glance before siding with the Captain and the rest of the "heroes." Loki wasn't just another threat; he had to be beaten to a pulp by practically every Avenger on the squad before giving up his scepter. The god had endurance, he'd give him that, but he did not have the capacity to change.

He burst out of the field onto another dirt road, wider than the one he had been on before. The bike grumbled to a stop as he scanned the horizon, his trained eyes seeing nothing in the darkness. He checked his watch, knowing the horseman would be showing up soon. He reached behind him, grabbing his bow with a practiced hand and extracting an arrow. Since explosives had failed in earlier attempts, he attached a regular metal tip. If new age technology hadn't worked, perhaps more basic tactics would.

He turned off the bike, letting his senses become aware of his surroundings. The wind was steady, sending silvery waves across the plains around him. Coyotes yowled in the distance and the occasional owl swooped into his view. Everything seemed too normal, he felt as though the animals would be aware of what was coming to them, some sixth sense that gave them the ability to know. But the crickets continued their songs and swarms of bats still circled above, snatching moths that came too close.

He instantly noticed when the wind stopped, gripping his bow and pulling it taught. The noise of crickets slowly began to fade and the loud coyotes went silent. The rhythmic sound of pounding hooves began to echo around him, signaling Famine's arrival. His pulse quickened as his trained eye spotted the shadow moving towards him, not that it would be difficult to see. The path behind it turned black as the plants withered and the blackness bled out like an open wound, hungrily consuming more and more of the crop. Clint measured the distance his target was approaching, watching the bony legs of the horse wobble with every stride as it neared. If the horseman noticed him, he didn't give any sign as he continued to charge steadily forward.

"Go back to hell," he growled under his breath, releasing the bowstring. The arrow flashed in the moonlight as it swished through the air, lodging into the horse's right front kneecap. The horse's leg buckled, causing it to collapse onto its side. It didn't make a noise; it only seemed confused as to why it was on the ground. The horseman stayed on, slapping the reins against the horse's neck as it struggled to stand. Meanwhile, Clint pulled another arrow from its sheath and sent it zipping through the air, plunging into the horse's other front kneecap. He watched as the horse continued to get to its feet, amused at its determination. With immense effort, the horse stood, breathing so hard he could see its lungs pumping against its jutting ribs. It had finally been brought to a stop, and Clint flicked out another arrow and sent it straight between the horse's eyes. Its skull jerked backward, its mouth opening in a silent scream as its tongue lolled out.

All was still for a heartbeat. Then, it simply shook its head, arrow still protruding from its brain. Clint blinked in surprise. It reared up, slamming its front hooves to the ground and snapping the arrow shafts as its joints rammed back in place. The cloaked horseman leveled his staff, and Clint noticed the golden-tipped point was aimed at him. He had no time to start the bike as the horse charged. He put another arrow into its hind leg joint as he dodged the beast, but he miscalculated the speed of his attacker. He avoided getting speared by the staff, but the horse's boney chest slammed into him like a freight train, throwing him to the dirt with a loud thud. It was odd, but he felt almost at peace with what was about to happen. As an agent to the most secretive agency in the country, it only seemed fitting that this demonic creature would kill him. He could hear the raspy breaths of the horse as its hooves bounced in the dirt, sending up tiny plumes of dust and creating a gritty haze. Clint coughed pitifully, the burning in his chest so intense his vision blurred. He waited for the feeling of the fatal blow, the puncture of a blade he had inflicted on so many others in his lifetime. Instead, the horse was jerked violently to the left, its hindquarters sinking back as it pivoted. Then it snorted, bursting into a gallop and heading in the direction it had been going before, leaving Clint laying on the packed earth.

He tried to stand, but his lungs still felt devoid of air and he couldn't find the strength to move, let alone get up. He was overcome with a feeling of emptiness, like his body had gone hollow from the impact. It took him a moment to place the feeling, but as he rolled onto his back, he recognized it as hunger; worse than he had ever felt before. He could feel it in his bones, a craving for something, anything, that he could eat. But he knew there wasn't anything but a barren field around him and he couldn't even find the power move to his bike. He had become so hungry it was physically painful, just breathing was sending spasms to his stomach. So it really was Famine.

He slowed his breathing, mentally preparing himself to move into REM sleep, one of the first training requirements of Special Forces soldiers, including SHEILD agents. If he forced himself into sleep, he might be able to regain enough strength to get to his bike and send out a distress signal. Hopefully, he wouldn't need to, and the agents would notice his bike had been sitting still for too long via its GPS features. But as he faded, he could only think that the two agents he'd stolen the bike from would still be in the middle of their chess game, blissfully unaware that their bike was even missing. He breathed one last conscious exhale before slipping into nothingness.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not seeing anything from up here," Tony said as he rocketed through the air. The various technologies inside his suit where looking for movement but mostly catching the swaying of dead corn instead of a horse. With his newest motion tracking software still in the works back at Stark Industries, it made things difficult as he scoured the countryside searching for Famine. They hadn't seen Clint yet either, and that was starting to worry Natasha. Tony wasn't concerned; he was betting that Hawkeye wasn't here at all and instead was using the mission as a cover-up for running off to Hawaii. Or something. The guy needed to do something besides shooting arrows into people before he went insane. If he was going to go on a vacation, good for him. Even so, something told Tony that there had to be a reason they hadn't seen the lone sniper yet.

"Nothing down here either," Bruce reported, the sound of their off-road vehicle making his voice muffled. Bruce, Natasha, Loki and Steve were on car duty, looking for any signs that might indicate where Famine had gotten off to, besides the whole decaying plant life thing. It sounded easy to just follow the trail of mud-brown fields, but a mile-wide radius was bigger than it seemed. They would head off in one direction and two minutes later they'd be in the middle of a ripe peanut plantation. It would have been a thousand times easier if the two agents assigned to watch the horseman had actually remembered to do their job. Currently they were been scrambling around looking for coordinates with Thor standing over them about to blow a fuse. That had gone over well.

Tony hummed a song to himself as he weaved through the air, swirling through the deep fog that had settled over the farmland. He wasn't used to flying so low to the ground, but he liked the challenge of dodging the occasional scarecrow. He dipped lower until he could hear the snapping of corn stalks against his suit, pretending the field was a giant brown ocean. He sank lower until the plants obscured his vision as they slapped his mask, knowing that the team was a good distance away and out of sight.

Suddenly he came to the edge of the field and burst abruptly from his little ocean. Before he could think he had slammed into something hard, and judging by the sound of the impact, heavy. He flipped head-over-heels into another cornfield, bouncing a few times in the dirt as he listened to the warning sensors in his suit start to scream at him.

"It appears you've hit something," JARVIS noted as he slid to a stop.

"Yes, thank you for that, I hadn't noticed," Tony returned sharply, taking a moment to regain his senses.

"Don't worry, all systems are still at full functional capacity."

"Thanks," he grumbled, pulling himself up. He knocked the dirt clumps and plant matter from his suit and lifted himself into the air once more, gliding through the trail of debris he'd left in his wake. He caught sight of a motorcycle engine, though it was much more hi-tech than any farmer would be likely to have. He cocked an eyebrow, wiggling his fingers to activate his blast beams, just in case.

Entering back onto the spot where he'd hit the bike, he saw the rest of it, tipped over but surprisingly still together after such an impact. Well, its engine and handlebars were missing, but still, not bad. He scanned the bike and his vision screen showed him that it was a SHIELD model, standard issue. Interesting. He crouched and examined what was left of the seat. He prodded a strange mark in the leather before realizing that it was a hoof print, a horse hoofprint.

"Guys, I think I've got something," he murmured. Tony was a little confused as to how a SHIELD bike had found its way into a farmer's field in the first place and why it was abandoned. And if the bike had come in contact with the horseman, how had it stayed upright?

"Titanium ion kickstand," JARVIS said, reading his thoughts. If only the robot actually could, that would have saved him a lot of trouble. "Capable of withstanding over 3,000 pound of force. The horse would fall over before the bike did."

Tony noticed a deep tire skid in the dirt, as if the bike had pivoted sideways. Naturally, getting hit by Iron Man would cause it to move, but the skid didn't come from the direction he'd hit it. He stood, and Jarvis highlighted a series of hoofprints still patted into the dirt. It looked as if the horse had stopped after hitting the bike before running off again. He hovered in the air, swooping closer to get a closer look. Something activated on his vision screen and a circle appeared in his peripheral vision. It began to scan a foreign object. He slowly moved towards it and saw a shadowy lump in the dirt. He moved closer, seeing something familiar about the shape. Then it moved.

"Scan complete. Clint Barton, part of the Avengers initiative—"

"Yeah, I know who it is," Tony snapped. He activated his radio. "Hey guys, I found Hawkeye."

"Really? Is he—" Bruce's voice was cut off as someone grabbed for the mic.

"Where." Natasha demanded. Tony smiled.

"Its kind of difficult to tell…maybe if I had a supercomputer in this suit I could—"

"Now is _not_  the time, Stark," Natasha snarled. Tony smirked, watching the little blue dot on his map screen get closer. Headlights cut through the fog behind him, and the car ground to a halt. Romanoff leapt from her seat, sprinting past him to Clint's side.

She gave him a gentle shake. "Hey, you okay?"

"Food," Clint breathed, barely able to speak.

Natasha jumped to her feet and ran back to the car. Tony stooped down next to Clint's crumpled form.

"Hey there," he said cheerfully. Clint gave him a steely glare, but was too exhausted to do much else. "We're gonna go take this thing out, okay? But I need to know when you got…well, when Famine paid you a visit."

Clint's face went pale as he tried to say something. Tony leaned closer, the glow from Iron Man's eyes washed Clint's face with light, making him look worse. Clint drew away, blinking.

"Hour," he wheezed, crumpling with the effort.

Tony nodded once, then lifted off. "Thanks." He flicked on his radio once more. "Hey, God of Thunder, our horsemen is an hour off." The vehicle disappeared behind him as he zoomed forward, lost in the deep fog.

"Excellent," Thor answered.

"We'll take Clint back to headquarters and find out what happened. I'll let you know if we find anything," Bruce announced.

"Sounds good, see you on the flip side, Green Man."

"Good luck out there, guys," Steve's voice came over the intercom. The mic shuffled and then the Captain's voice came in again, but it was obvious he didn't know that the mic was still active. "The flip side is a good thing, right?"

"Yes," Bruce replied, "Now please, stay on the road, you really don't want me to get carsick."

"Sorry,"

"And get this thing moving, when you said you could drive stick I assumed you meant you could drive  _fast_ ," Natasha hissed from the backseat.

"Hey, when you guys are done playing ambulance, you should turn the radio off," Tony smirked.

"Don't look at me like that. I told you it was the red button, yeah—" Bruce's voice cut out as the radio clicked off.

"JARVIS, can you give me a distance radius, please?"

"Yes sir. Thank you for asking nicely."

"I can still wipe your hard drive and give you a girl voice."

"How threatening," JARVIS responded. "If Famine is moving at average speed, it is about 35 miles northeast. I've laid out the most likely path of travel." A glowing orange line highlighted the path in front of him on his visual screen. He adjusted his flight path to center himself above the line.

"Thunderboy, on me."

Thor swooped in close, using his strange helicopter hammer move that Tony still didn't quite understand. The two heroes picked up the pace, pressing faster against the night wind. Famine was close.

Thor spotted him first, using a bright vein of lightning to cut through the fog for a moment. Tony didn't go after the horseman at right away, trying to think of a strategic plan of attack that would end the thing. Thor, however, dove straight down, Mjolnir arched above his head. He disappeared into the fog, leaving Tony alone in the darkness above. A resounding crack reached his ears as Thor connected with his target, then silence. Tony swooped down, arming his suit just in case Thor hadn't succeeded. It was never that easy.

His arc reactor cast an eerie blue light into the haze, slowly scanning in front of him and listening for the sound of hooves. It felt like something out of a horror movie, the thick swirling fog all around him and he stillness of his surroundings. Except, he was in the position of the unsuspecting victim about to get stabbed to death by a serial killer.

A loud scream pierced the air, making Tony nearly jump out of his skin. He heard a thud off to his left, and rushed toward it, fearing the worst. Finding nothing, he began to feel a growing sense of anxiety. Not fear, but very close to it. Something about the atmosphere was…off. He wandered further toward where he though the scream came from, debating on whether to call out for his friend.

Suddenly a dark figure came flying out of the fog and slammed into him, tossing him back into the dirt with a loud clunk. He quickly shoved the creature off of him and prepared his blasters to tear the thing apart. Then he saw a mop of blonde hair, streaked with mud, but it still recognizable.

"Thor?"

The god groaned, rolling onto his back to reveal a blood-spattered face. His icy blue eyes were glazed and bloodshot, so awful looking that if he hadn't of made a noise Tony would have assumed he was dead. He crouched, giving Thor a little shake. Thor's pupils pricked, but he didn't move. A fresh stream of blood trickled from his mouth, and Tony realized he'd never seen either of the Asgardians bleed before. Whatever Famine was doing, it was bad. They appeared to still be on a dirt road, so Tony carefully picked up the injured demigod and propped him up in a roadside ditch, feeling his way through the mist with care.

"Stay here and don't do anything stupid." Tony popped a metal sphere form his suit and pressed it with his thumb. A little red light began to blink, and he placed the little ball in Thor's hand. It was a homing beacon that would send a signal out to SHIELD as well as the other Avengers so they would be able to find him later. "Nothing stupid, got it? That means no lightning." It was obvious Thor wasn't going to be able to do much of anything, but that was about as close to comforting as Tony was going to get. He was worried about his friend, of course, but he wasn't going to go all bedside manner on him.

He lifted himself into the air again and drifted through the fog once more.  _Come on out_ , he thought angrily. Famine was not going to get away with messing up two of the Avengers, not on his watch. He heard the distant thudding of a horse and rocketed forward toward the noise. It didn't take very long to spot the dark shadow of the horseman, even with the poor visibility. He blinked, not realizing just how big the horse was. Though it was closer to a bag of bones than an animal, its shoulders easily surpassed his head. It ran with an awkward gate, but still faster than any horse he'd ever seen. He readied a hand, and shot off a beam of energy. It seared into the horse's hip and it bucked wildly, crying out in surprise. The cloaked horseman turned, and Tony caught a glimpse of his sallow face in the moonlight. Gross.

The horse pivoted, and before Tony could shoot again it was about to mow him down. He dodged, barely avoiding the beast's flinty hooves as it barreled by him. He flew upward, taking to the skies and firing on all cylinders. The horse was defenseless against his barrage of weaponry, but still tried to rear up at him from below., hooves churning in the fog. Tony fired off everything he had; blasting it with mini-missiles, sticky bombs and everything else he'd stocked the suit with. When he was finished, the horse was collapsed on the ground, appearing defeated. He moved closer, cringing as he noticed the most of its flesh had burned away, revealing a bleached white skeleton. No muscle, no organs, just a skeleton, though he was positive that he saw lungs pumping earlier. Then, its chest sputtered to life, and the horse struggled to its feet.

"What does it take to kill you?" Tony snarled. He noticed a sleek black arrow sticking from the horse's head and recognized it as one of Clint's. So the horse was immortal.  _Figures._  He turned to the rider who was still sitting on his steed, clutching his golden staff. Tony aimed to shoot, but the horseman shot the staff toward him with strength that seemed incapable of the bony arm that threw it. Tony caught it with both hands, then promptly plummeted to the ground. The harmless looking metal rod had to have weighed 3 tons.

"JARVIS, what is this thing made of?"

"I have no data on any of it, sir."

"Great." He landed with a thud, releasing the staff and letting it clatter to the dirt. The horseman opened a sickly palm and the staff returned to it, reminiscent of Thor and his hammer. Tony fired a hand blaster, but nothing happened.

"It appears your weapons have been disabled," Jarvis announced.

Tony looked at his hands, noticing a smooth cylindrical chunk had been taken out of his suit where he'd touched the staff. He cursed, flexing his hands as if the metal might return. Whatever the staff was made of, it had reached his suit's melting point of 7698 °F. Damn apocalyptic weapons, now it was personal.

Something slammed into his chest, tossing him back onto the dirt. He'd been knocked over three times in less than an hour, which had to be tied for his first fight with Thunderboy. Which he had totally won before Steve broke it up. The thick breathing of Famine's horse entered his thoughts and he realized that it had been the horse who'd kicked him, and he winced as it pounded a hoof onto his chest.

"Something is being emitted from the horse…it's throwing off the system, but we appear to be immune to its effects otherwise," Jarvis sounded in his ear.

"Thanks," Tony growled. "Once you're done researching, can you find a way to kill it?"

The horse stomped angrily, rattling the suit. Tony shut his eyes as he grabbed the horse's foot.

"This is disgusting. This is disgusting. This is disgusting." He snapped the bone with a flick of his wrist and the horse crumpled on top of him. It kicked wildly, its eyes rolling back and a thick stream of smoky breath coming from its mouth. He quickly shoved it off of him as it writhed and lunged for the horseman. He yanked the cloaked man off of his steed by the throat, preparing to create a new Headless Horseman. As he clenched his hand into a fist however, the horseman disintegrated, leaving only his cloak still clutched by Tony's other hand. Tony threw the cloak to the ground and saw that the horse was gone too, along with the staff. He cocked an eyebrow; not believing it had been that…simple.

"Systems back online," Jarvis noted.

"They were offline?"

"Yes, systems failed after Famine's contact with the suit. I just figured you wouldn't want to hear about it while you were grappling."

"Call the others, we need to tell them what happened out here." He looked around; noticing that the fields had been flattened around them, as if a bomb had went off. He had no memory of any explosions big enough to do that. But the horseman was gone, and as he looked back at his injured hands, he couldn't help but feel that this was only the beginning. Little did he know, he was right.


	5. Chapter 5

The hum of lab equipment always calmed him down. He never told anyone about it, because though he loved working in labs, he couldn't stand to be confined to one. It was one of those things he had to keep a secret, thanks to the Other Guy. It seemed stupid enough, telling people he was soothed by the sound of machines, but they had an odd way of clinging to things like that. Once he had jokingly told someone that chocolate was like a drug to him and the next day a man showed up at his door with a pound of milk chocolate and a ream of paper, insisting he was there to study the effect chocolate would have on him. At first it was horrifying, disgusting even, but since the incident he'd learnedto keep his mouth shut about some things.

"Have you found anything yet?" Bruce looked up at the voice, seeing Steve Rodgers'sframepropped in the doorway. He looked worried, and Bruce knew that he hadn't gotten any sleep since they brought Clint back. None of them had.

"No," Bruce replied, "Well, nothing on Clint. Or Thor."

"Oh." Steve looked at the floor in disappointment. Bruce bit his lip, unsure if he should tell the Captain about Tony. Stark had killed he horsemen, they all knew that, but the more interesting point was that he had come in direct contact with the horse and came out with only a few chinks in his suit, though Tony described them as "critical injuries." His eyes flicked to the maroon metal gloves laying on the table next to him, with a smooth cut of metal missing form each palm.

"How are they doing?" Bruce asked as he moved back to his tablet screen, filtering through test results.

"Same as before. Thor has eaten half the pantry and Clint has eaten over 10,000 calories as of breakfast."

"And they're still hungry?"

Steve nodded slowly: "Still hungry."

"And Tony?"

"He's fine. He said to tell you he was going to run an…uh, electric, no, an electronic research test—"

"Electron reactivity?" Bruce tried, his brain beginning to run through what an electron reactivity test might bring out.

"Uh, yes? It sounded like that, I don't know. He said he would call you when he's done."

"Great, thank you." Bruce pulled up a new screen and began to dig through files, searching for the test he had done last night. Something about the energy coming off of Clint; it was almost radioactive, but different. More similar to a virus, though there had been no bacteria present. Clint had reacted the same way as Thor, but as Bruce had discovered, people from other planets didn't really have human blood, yet the horseman's powers had affected both of them. Even more interesting, the horseman had drawn blood, something even Loki had been shocked to see. Whatever the horseman had done, it could affect all of them. Maybe Tony had found something that explained it. Maybe…

"So, I'm going to go check on them again." Steve said, interrupting his thoughts, tapping on the doorframe as he stepped out.

"Hey, wait," Bruce called after him, leaning over the lab table. Steve's head popped back in, blue eyes glittering with curiosity. Bruce offered a warm smile, "You should get some sleep, andNatasha. There's no need to watch those two, they can take care of themselves. Rest up, we both know this isn't over."

Steve smiled politely, but Bruce could tell the Super Soldier wasn't planning on going to bed any time soon. He figured as much, but it was worth a try. Something in the hallway caught Rodgers'seye **.** Whatever it was, it caused him to duck away quickly. Bruce cocked an eyebrow, but as Loki appeared in the doorway, he understood.

"Hello **,** " Loki's voice was quiet and Bruce realized he hadn't heard a word from the god's mouth since his arrival.

"Hi, Loki," Bruce replied with a smile and looking back to his work. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes. I wish to see my brother."

Bruce looked up once more at the lean figure of the Thor's kin. He looked lost and terrified, like a child. It was strange, seeing Loki act so…weak. Bruce was half expecting him to break into an evil smile and smite all of them. He felt bad for thinking that, though; Loki had done nothing but help since his return. Even so, he felt himself tense as Loki took a step forward.

"Please. I only ask as a last resort."

"You were the villain last time around, Loki. We might trust you, but they won't."

"You do not trust me," Loki's nose wrinkled in disgust as if Bruce had insulted him. "I just wish to speak with my brother."

Bruce frowned, shaking his head. "You know I can't do that. He's in quarantine until we figure out what happened."

"Is that so? You're idea of quarantine seems to include everyone but me." Loki spat through gritted teeth. Bruce looked away. His insides churned at the sight of Loki's desperation, but he felt worse that he could do nothing. SHIELD had strictly forbidden anyone who was not affiliated with the Avengers Initiative from seeing two of their heroes blubbering about hunger every time they had a chance to speak. The first few hours had been the worst, if either of them weren't given food immediately they became hostile. Twelve hours later and they were slowing down, but still eating enough to make the Other Guy sick.

"I'm sorry—"

"No. Do not try and deceive me with your lies. Just promise me I will get to speak with him before you leave again."

"You'll be with us, you're still part of this team," Bruce assured him, but the second the words left his lips he realized how stupid he sounded.

Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "Before you leave, find me."

"Speaking of finding, I've been looking for you, Skelly," Tony appeared behind the Asgardian, slapping a hand on his shoulder. Loki flinched and his green eyes flashed with fear before returning to their usual blank stare.

"Tony, did you find anything?" Bruce asked urgently.

"I dunno, maybe. I need someone who wasn't exposed to Clint or Thor." Toy gave Loki's shoulder a shake.

"I wasn't exposed, why don't you let me help?" Bruce offered.

"Yes, why don't you let  _him_  help," Loki hissed.

"Nope, no can do. This is probably something Purple Pants wouldn't appreciate. But Loki here, he'll love it." Tony flashed a beaming smile and ruffled Loki's hair, much to the god's disdain. He tugged on Loki's cape, and they started towards Tony's lab. Bruce was not going to miss out on this one. He rushed after them, determined to find what Tony was up to.

* * *

Tony's lab was quite different than Bruce Banner's. As Loki entered the room full of glowing machinery, touch screens and diagrams he instantly wished he had never asked Bruce for help in the first place. Stark's lab felt like a rich man's toy room, and that was what it was. SHIELD had built it up to his ridiculous regulations, or so Loki had heard from the guards posted outside. Everything was glossy and showy; if someone had told him it was an arcade he would have believed them, though he hadnever actually been to one. Bruce's lab was more relaxing, in an odd way. Or perhaps that was Bruce himself, always calm and collected while he toiled away at his equipment.

When they had found Thor on the side of the road Loki was convinced he was dead. He sat there like a fool while the others lifted his brother into the car, glancing at each other and then glancing at him with cold eyes as if it were his fault. When Thor shifted, the first thought that came to his mind was how much he'd wanted to see his brother dying. How much he hadimagined it, and the glory that would come afterward ashe took his place at the throne. It was a disgusting feeling that spread through his veins like a plague and made him ashamed of himself as it overcame him. How could he have felt that way when his brother may have died there next to him? But the thought was there, and would not leave him.

Hehadsaid nothing, and now he was kicking himself for it. When they arrived at headquarters Thor had been carted off so fast Loki didn't have time to think. So he just watched his brother's mop of blonde hair disappear behind a wall of SHIELD agents screaming to each other about heart rates and IV bags. Still, he said nothing. When Steve informed him that Thor was going to be okay, he said nothing. Only this morning as he lay on his cot in a spotless metal room staring at the ceiling did it finally dawn on him that his brother was lucky to be alive. But when Loki came to the doors to see him, the guards blocked his way, guns at the ready. So he waited **.** Waited until he got physically sick from guilt before asking Bruce for help. Help, however, he had notreceived. Now here he was, being lead down a corridor to be part of an untested science experiment.

Tony gave him a light shove, motioning towards a fiberglass box in the corner of the lab. Loki paused, nostrils flaring at the sight of another glass cage. Tony's grip tightened in warning and Loki realized that as long as Thor was gone, Loki was just as much a prisoner as last time, though it might not look it.

"You're going to  _what_?" Bruce demanded, breaking Loki's train of thought. He stepped into the glass box as Tony began humming an upbeat song, swinging the door shut and turning to Bruce with a wicked smile.

"I told you, I'm going to give him the munchies **,** " Tony's voice was muffled, but Loki could still hear their conversation through the glass.

"And how did you manage to make that kind of energy?"

"I didn't, I'm just harnessing what I already had. Remember the cloak? Well that little sucker has enough juice left to infect someone, and I think I know how to fix it."

"Tony, did you read any of the information I sent you? First they're weak, then they're hostile! Loki is the last person you should be experimenting on!" Bruce glanced at Loki with a shrug, "No offense." Loki's lip twitched, but he continued to stare straight ahead.

"Yeah, yeah, I read your little briefing, now help me start this thing," Tony said as he fiddled with the control panel. He motioned for Bruce to join him, and with a reluctant sigh Bruce began to help. Tony was smiling to himself, pressing buttons like an awestruck child.

"This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm letting you do this to him," Bruce growled under his breath.

"Don't be so pessimistic, my friend. It's all in the name of science, right Loki?"  
Loki flashed him a glare as Tony aimed what looked like a gun at his head. The Asgardian swallowed, tensing as he looked down the barrel. He hated guns; they were so rudimentary and quick. Quarrels could be ended during blade fights, but guns gave no chance for honor or conversation, they were brutal and abrupt. The weapon of cowards.

"Oh calm down, Bambi **,** " Tony rolled his eyes. "You're just gonna feel hungry after this, just for a minute."

"Or you'll cause serious brain injuries by shooting unknown energy waves into his head," Bruce growled under his breath, but Loki heard him anyway. Tony grinned and stepped back. The gun hummed to life, and Loki shut his eyes as Stark pulled the trigger.

* * *

The control room at SHIELD was as busy as ever as Steve paced by the observation window for what seemed likethousandth time. Agents scurried from monitor to monitor, murmuring to themselves and discussing the latest mission tactics with each other. Most of them looked stressed, all of them tired. Holographic world maps appeared from nowhere, and agents swarmed around it to tap locations and pin details to certain areas, all digitally. He was more worried about what was going on behind the door to his left, mainly why Natasha hadn't come out yet. Shehad been in charge of watching Clint and Thor for the last hour, but her shift was up as of five minutes ago. He bit his lip, pausing in front of the door. If something had happened, well, it would be better to find out five minutes later instead of five hours later.

He shoved to door open to the observation room. Natasha was slumped over the table, her red hair splayed around her. Steve found himself holding his breath as he approached her, fearing the worst. As he got closer however, he noticed that she was sleeping, so tired she had taken a nap on the metal desk in front of her. Romanoff must have been up for days straight before being sent to retrieve him, but even the world's best spies needed sleep sometimes. His lips twitched into a smile and he stepped around her sleeping form to look into the two rooms housing Thor and Clint.

The demigod was slouched back in his chair, nibbling on an apple core. Much different from the way he'd been shoving down platefuls of ham just hours earlier. Clint was chewing thoughtfully on a sandwich, running his tongue along his teeth as though sitting at the dinner table. Steve pressed the intercom button and leaned into the microphone.

"Guys? You doing okay?"

Thor jumped, looking to the ceiling and searching for the source of the noise. Clint looked up with a bored stare, still chewing.

"Yeah, is that you Steve?"

"Yup, it's me. You hungry?"

"Not particularly," Clint hiccupped.

"Why am I locked in this dining hall? I insist that you release me immediately!" Thor bellowed at the ceiling,

"Calm down, big guy, I'll let you out in a sec. Are you still hungry?"

"I am starved of freedom, if that is what you are implying!"

Steve laughed, shaking his head. Natasha shifted, brow wrinkling as she started to wake up. She suddenly jumped to attention, eyes wide.

"Hey, it's okay, they're fine," Steve said gently, motioning to the holding rooms. Natasha sighed, anger flashing in her eyes. She looked disgusted that she had been caught off guard, and probably did not like the fact that he had found her sleeping on the job, not that it was her fault.

"I demand my release!" Thor yelled again. Steve rolled his eyes, but before he could move to the door controls, Nick Fury entered the observation room, his face grim.

"Rodgers, I need you to come with me right now. Natasha, watch these two, don't let them out until the Cap comes back."

Natasha glanced at Steve as he followed Fury out. The Captain shrugged, just as clueless as she was. Whatever was going on, it was bad: Nick hardly ever made personal visits, even if he was just down the hall. They entered a small office room that was empty except for a mug of coffee, but judging by the color of the brown liquid it had gone cold long ago. The silence ticked by as Fury gathered his thoughts, and Steve stood at the ready, still puzzled as to what this was about.  
Nick turned, his lone dark eye locking with Steve's, paralyzing him.

We found another horseman. Two actually. You need to get the team reassembled and ready to deploy by nightfall."


	6. Chapter 6

A bright beam of light exploded from Tony's gun, burning straight through the fiberglass and into Loki's head. The light turned a dark purple, with veins of color washing over the young Asgardian until he was completely covered in purple shadow. As quickly as it had been fired, the beam was gone and Loki crumpled to the floor. Bruce swallowed thickly, staring intently at Loki's fallen form. Tony smirked, placing the gun on the desk behind him.

"JARVIS, light him up please."

A robotic arm descended from the ceiling, carrying what looked like a glowing charcoal. Tony motioned for the robot to hurry up, annoyed at the suspense. Bruce was biting into his knuckles, eyes shifting back and forth between Tony and the strange glowing rock.

"Calm down, Bruce, I know what I'm doing," Tony said with a reassuring smile.

"Do you? Because it doesn't look like it. You just shot a god with an unstable energy that cuts through fiberglass like butter," Bruce snapped.

JARVIS released the stone, allowing it to drop onto Loki's chest. Nothing happened.

"Put it on his hand, I'm not trying to cure his clothes," Tony growled.

"Of course, Sir, how silly of me," JARVIS replied, moving the rock and dropping it onto Loki's outstretched palm. It glowed brighter for a moment before going back to normal. Bruce watched for a response as Tony's eyes flashed back and forth over the god's still body. Stark bit his lip and Bruce groaned.

"Dammit, Tony!"

"What? It might've worked!" The dark-haired scientist said defensively, hurrying over to the fiberglass box and throwing the door open. He crouched next to Loki's motionless form and reached over to lightly smacked him on the cheek. Loki grumbled incoherently for a moment before going lifeless again. Tony began tapping him on the face with more urgency until he was nearly slapping him with full-force.

"Cut it out!" Bruce snarled, shoving Tony aside. "It didn't work, okay? Whatever it was, it didn't work!"

Tony blinked in apparent shock, allowing Bruce to take over the situation. If the circumstances were different Bruce would have comforted his friend, he knew the embarrassment of testing a theory that didn't work. Tony was probably worse than he was when it came to dealing with problems, except Tony didn't turn into a giant green rage monster.

Loki shifted, and Bruce snapped back to the task at hand. The Asgardian wasn't acting like either of the two that were affected; he was talking right off the bat, but not making any sense. Clint hadn't been able to get a word out when they first found 's pupils were dilated, the green of his irises nearly blacked out.

"Shit," Bruce hissed. "Tony, I need all the medical equipment you have, right now."

"I'll pull up everything we have, Mr. Banner," JARVIS replied.

He grabbed Loki's wrist and felt a quick pulse, but it was so weak he could barely feel it unless he pressed as hard as he could. The lab began to change around him, turning into a high-tech medical lab, probably in case something happened with Tony's heart. Work tables gave way to stainless steel cabinets filled with X-Ray systems and monitoring equipment for everything from heartbeats to blood sugar. A reclining patient chair appeared in the center of the room and Bruce looped his arms under Loki's shoulder blades and began to drag him toward the stretcher. Tony managed to get ahold of himself and helped him lift the god onto the chair.

"He's probably going to wake up any second," Tony grumbled, "What do you need me to do?"

"Please get out of here and send me the details on whatever that thing was that you said was going to cure him, that's what you can do." It came out a little harsher than Bruce intended, but he didn't apologize. Tony could very well have killed Loki, and there was no telling what was going on with the young god. The longer he stood there talking, the less chance he was going to have.

"Sure," Tony replied slowly before ducking out of the room.

Loki looked awful and Bruce recognized symptoms of shock. A tray of various tweezers, syringes, and other small devices came up from the floor and Bruce spied a handheld light. He flicked it on and flashed it across Loki's eyes. No response.

"What's his blood pressure?" Bruce asked JARVIS as he began strapping on every medical reading device he could find onto Loki's body. The god began to tremble and Bruce noticed his face was covered with a sheen of sweat.

"Current readings are at 90/50 and falling, sir. Though, I must point out that-"

"Loki isn't human, I know," Bruce finished gurffly. Loki was going down fast, and Bruce was ridiculously unqualified for emergency medical treatment. He'd played doctor before, back when Natasha had collected him for the first Avengers mission, but viruses and diseases were much easier than the unexplained symptoms in front of him at the moment. There were a thousand variables in this case: he had no idea what had caused Loki's shock, what type of shock it was, and if Loki would respond like a human.

"I need an IV," Bruce commanded, trying to sound more in control than he actually was. The robotic arm that had dispensed the failed cure earlier descended from the ceiling with a bag of clear fluid. Bruce plucked the IV tube from the metal claws and prepared the needle. With a free hand he strapped Loki's right arm to the chair, then flicked his forearm to bring more color into the veins. The gods breathing had gone shallow and his breaths sounded closer to hiccups than inhalations. Bruce plunged the needle into the skin and Loki jerked.

"Sorry…" Bruce murmured as he concentrated. He pulled the needle out and felt a rush of relief as a slight trickle of blood dripped from the stick point. He inserted the needle again and unscrewed the syringe, extracting the needle, leaving the catheter in place. He grabbed the end of the IV tube and screwed it into the catheter and started the drip. He waited a moment, scanning Loki for any signs of worsening symptoms.

"Any change in blood pressure?"

"Blood pressure is beginning to stabilize, but it is still at dangerous levels."

"Okay…do you have any dopamine? Or steroids?" Bruce asked, checking the monitors around him for any indication on the status of Loki's vitals.

"Sorry sir, but Mr. Stark has expressly denied me the ability to tell you of his narcotics history."

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I'M ASKING ABOUT TONY'S DRUG USE?" Bruce exploded suddenly. He took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut as he took a mental punch from the Other Guy. He couldn't lose control here, the last time the Other Guy had seen Loki he'd clobbered him half to death, if he were to come out now Loki would be dead for sure.

"Pardon me sir, but I'm afraid—"

"Give it to him, J." Tony's voice sounded over the intercom. "Bruce has permission to access anything he wants."

"Of course, sir. I apologize for inconveniencing you, Dr. Banner."

"That's okay," Bruce smiled weakly, though he knew JARVIS couldn't see him, let alone understand. "Thanks, Tony."

"No problem," Tony dismissed himself without a keen comment, leaving Bruce in silence. JARVIS brought up a state-of-the-art medicine cabinet, stocked with everything from ibuprofen to amoxicillin. Loki was in serious condition, his pulse was through the roof yet his breathing was still shallow. Bruce began to dig through the cabinet, finding a bottle of steroids, a syringe and a bag of dopamine fluid.

"How's that blood pressure, JARVIS?"

"It is beginning to climb, but may plateau if other fluids are not introduced. "

"Gotcha." Bruce grabbed the dopamine fluid and held the bag in his teeth, eyes on Loki's heartbeat monitor as he unscrewed the cap to the dopamine tube. His glasses were sliding down his nose, but Bruce ignored them as he attached the dopamine drop to the existing IV tube. Loki had to make it through this, the team could very well fall apart if he didn't. Tony would never be able to forgive himself, the others would be angry that Tony and Bruce had been experimenting on someone without telling them, Thor would be in shambles…everything that had brought them together would be lost. The more Bruce thought about it, the more he realized that Loki had brought them all together in the first mission, though it was unintentional. If Loki hadn't caused all that trouble, Bruce wouldn't have made friends with some of the best people he knew. So many things would never have happened, so in a way, he should be thanking Loki for doing what he did.

Bruce grabbed the syringe and opened the bottle of steroids, stirring the solution before sucking up some of the fluid with the needle. He prepared the syringe, sending a squirt of the solution onto the floor. He took a deep breath, knowing this was the last he could do for the Asgardian until he ran some blood tests, which would all probably fail anyway because of chemical differences in Loki's blood. He stuck the needle carefully into Loki's flesh, the god's dilated eyes flicking open. That was good, any response was good. He slowly injected the steroids then stepped back, tossing the needle into the wastebasket. Now all he had left to do was wait.

* * *

"Tony, I need you to come in. Bruce too," Steve announced over the intercom. Nick Fury didn't disappoint, two more horsemen were suspected to be on the loose. Problem was, SHIELD didn't know which horsemen they were. Apparently, Death, Conquest and War acted pretty similarly. The fear was that Death was on the loose, for obvious reasons. Steve was assigned to regroup the team and get half of them to North Carolina and the other half into Virginia in the next 24 hours.

"Bruce is busy," Tony replied flatly.

"I don't care, this is important."

"Bruce is really busy."

"Doing what?" Steve asked sourly. He didn't have time for messing around, he didn't care if Bruce was about to find the cure for cancer, there would be no cancer to cure if the world ended.

"Important stuff." Tony's voice sounded off, lacking the usual sarcastic undertone.

"Okay…but you can still come in, right?"

"I could, but I'm busy too." Steve heard the sound of clinking glass. Dammit.

"Tony, put the drink down and get in here."

"How'd you know?" He could hear his friend pour another glass.

"Why wouldn't you be drinking?" Steve growled, "You've just killed a horseman from the biblical apocalypse. You can congratulate yourself later, okay? I need you to meet me in the briefing room, now please."

"Congratulations, yeah." Tony's voice grew somber. He sighed. "I'll be there in a sec."

"I don't have 'a sec,' we need to move."

"Fine, asshole." Steve smiled as the usual Tony returned, but he couldn't help but wonder why he'd been drinking if he wasn't celebrating. What could have possibly happened in the last twelve hours that he was upset about?

"Cap, we're ready when you are," Natasha said behind him and he turned to face the rest of the team. Natasha, Clint and Thor were the only other Avengers in the room, and it made him nervous. Whatever Bruce was doing, it better be important. Tony entered picking at his teeth with a plastic drink umbrella, taking a seat and twirling around in it a few times before paying attention to any of them. Steve cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Two more horsemen have been discovered, or so we think. We aren't sure which horsemen they are, but the remaining three are just as dangerous as Famine. Half of you will be going to Virginia, the other half will be with me in North Carolina." He looked up and was surprised to find no shocked faces, so he continued. "I was told to inform all of you that physical contact with any of the horsemen could be fatal, especially if we are dealing with Death. Infection is instantaneous and can have long-term effects. So keep your distance."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Clint chuckled.

"Where is my brother?" Thor asked suddenly, looking up from the table.

"Uh, I think—" Steve started, but Tony cut him off.

"He's with Bruce. They're doing important stuff."

"You lie! Something has happened to him, I am no fool!"

"Nothing happened to him, he was helping me out," Tony replied plainly, but Steve caught a flicker of regret in his dark eyes.

"What have you done to him? He is in pain, I can feel it!"

"Really? That's cute," Tony growled sarcastically, "Why didn't you feel that twenty minutes ago when-"

"He's fine." Bruce slipped into the briefing room, closing the door behind him. "He had a bad reaction to one of my synthesizers that I accidently left on in my lab. He went into shock, but he's fine now."

Thor stood up, eyes wide. Bruce smiled, motioning for him to sit down. "It's okay, Thor. I took care of it. He just needs someone to watch him while we're gone."

"It is only fitting that I will care for my brother while you continue your quest."

Steve shook his head. "Sorry Thor, we need you on this one, lightning is pretty useful when you can't touch your attacker. Bruce, we need you too, the Hulk might be less responsive to the horseman than us." He needed everyone together on this; he was not about to let Loki take any of them.

"I'm staying, I think I'm close to figuring out what made me immune to their powers," said Tony with a defiant slap on the table. Steve noticed that Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly, and he even gripped the arm of his chair. Interesting.

"Then who's watching Loki?" Bruce asked.

"We could have an agent—"

"No way. S.H.I.E.L.D wouldn't even let him in to see his brother while he was in observation. I don't trust them dealing with medical equipment that could potentially kill him," Bruce said, shaking his head.

"Since when do you care so much about him?" Clint growled, evidently still holding a grudge.

Before Bruce could reply, Steve cut in. "Okay here's the deal. Tony is staying behind to work on finding a cure. Clint, you're staying here to keep an eye on Loki and to help with team communications. Natasha, Bruce, you two are heading to Virginia. Thor, you're with me. There's sniper rifles in the armory if you need one, otherwise, let's move out."

Clint's face was stone, but he stood and headed for the door with everyone else. He needed to confront Loki again and realize that he could be an ally…and hopefully not kill him. They had bigger things to worry about than the past.


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha's eyes were glued to the sprawling countryside below, searching the patchwork of fields for any signs that might indicate a horseman was nearby. She knew they were close, she'd felt the plane slow and begin its gradual dip towards the tarmac. It was pretty much impossible not to feel what was going on with the tiny private jet; it may have been government owned, but that certainly didn't mean it was any good. Pity, she'd thought S.H.I.E.L.D had a little concern for its best operators. Her eyes flicked to Bruce, who was gripping the armrests and looking at the ceiling. She felt a smile on her lips as she turned back to the window.

She still didn't know whether to fear him or not, it still made her shiver to think about how close she'd been to being caught in the Hulk's vice grip and torn to smithereens back on the helicarrier. If Thor hadn't shown up to distract him…she shook the thought away. It made her feel pathetic sometimes, the fact that she had no true "powers." She was used to being treated as a lesser agent, men always thought she'd just seduced her way into the rank she was, until she kicked their asses. Male agents were allowed girlfriends, wives, even prostitutes and mistresses were turned a blind eyes every once in awhile. But her? If she so much as hinted at affection she was deemed a whore. It was easy to see why so many women were stuck at the bottom, if she hadn't been raised in the spy environment she would had succumbed to the endless torment that plagued her gender. S.H.I.E.L.D was much better than other agencies she'd worked with, but there was always the tendency to give her the easier job. Clint Barton was probably the only man on the planet besides Nick Fury who knew just how much she could handle; but she even kept secrets from them.

"Prepare for landing," the pilot announced as the plane took a sharper dip. Natasha heard Bruce inhale sharply as the plane shook, but he didn't seem to be close to changing.

"Doing okay?" she asked with a smirk.

"Oh yeah," Bruce swallowed, "I love flying. I love to fly. Flying is great."

She laughed, turning to the window once more. Oddly, there weren't any skyscrapers or big city buildings that might indicate the presence of an airport. She craned her neck to get a better view, but only saw a long stretch of farmland. Shit. They were landing without a runway. She leaned back in her seat, squeezing her eyes shut as the plane rocketed toward the ground. It hit with a shuddering thud and began to jerk wildly as it bounced along the freshly plowed field. She opened one eye, checking up on Bruce as he sat there mumbling under his breath and holding onto his seat for dear life. If she hadn't been in this same situation with him, she would have laughed at him. This kind of landing was ridiculous and uncalled for; touching down on a busy highway was probably safer than diving right into crop fields, where any giant potholes would be covered in plant life. It was imperative that they all survived, including the suicidal pilot, who was holding their mission briefing file.

The plane finally rattled to a stop and Natasha was out of her seatbelt before the lone stewardess could move to stop her. She rammed open the door to the head of the plane, eyes narrowed.

"What the hell do you think you're doing landing a plane like that?"

The pilot turned, revealing a face of a hardened SHIELD agent. He had a toothpick in his mouth and, judging by the neck tattoos, he was military. Natasha kept her stern demeanor though, she didn't care if he was the president of the United States, this guy had no right to be so careless.

"Sorry, Miss," he grumbled, his toothpick bobbing as he spoke, "But my runway was on fire."

"Then reroute to another runway!" she snapped, "Do you have any idea who you're carrying back here?"

"Yeah, I know my cargo, lady. Black Widow and the Green Man. I was told to put you down on that runway or do whatever I could to get you as close to the site as possible," the man said gruffly.

"I highly doubt that includes putting our lives at risk," Natasha hissed and her eyes flashed dangerously.

The pilot's eyes narrowed. "I gotta get outta here. I suggest you start your mission, just follow the smoke." He pulled out a large envelope from his jacket and held it out to her. Natasha pursed her lips, then snatched the envelope away and left, slamming the door behind her. The nerve of that lowlife!

The exit door was open and Natasha made her way down the stairs where Bruce stood a short distance away, looking to the pale blue sky. She followed his gaze to a cloud of thick black smoke that had clouded the horizon. So the pilot wasn't kidding. They were smack in the middle of a soybean field, and she could see the tops of burning buildings in the distance. Whatever was happening to this town, it wasn't good. She gripped the envelope and started towards the fires.

"Come on, Banner." She tapped Bruce's shoulder and jolted him from his trance. He readjusted his glasses and started following her through the seemingly endless rows of soybean plants. Natasha opened the envelope with a swift drag of her thumbnail across the top and pulled out the documents and began to leaf through them.

"This place is called Brookneal. Small population,virtually nonexistent crime until last night." She cocked an eyebrow as she read further. "Apparently some guy rode into town on horseback, walked into a restaurant and everyone just started trying to kill each other."

"That sounds pleasant," said Bruce as he cast another look to the burning buildings. "Death maybe?"

"I don't know. It says within the hour the whole town was beating on each other, even the local nuns were going at it." She held up a surveillance photo showing a nun taking a swing at a police officer with a baseball bat. Bruce grinned, suppressing a laugh. "You'd think Death would just kill everyone."

"If I was a crazy guy riding around on a mythical horse I have no idea what I'd be thinking," Bruce replied with a shrug.

Natasha laughed and turned back to the paper. Even the agents assigned to surveillance had gone under; no attempts at rescue would be made until the horseman was taken down.

As the town got closer, Natasha felt a knot form in her stomach, like they weren't supposed to be there, like they were intruding. It didn't help that it was only the two of them, and Bruce still wasn't in complete control of the Hulk when he got upset. Steve seemed to have purposely kept her from working with Clint, and having him work with Loki while Bruce was out saving the day seemed like a bad call to her. Especially when they didn't know the effects of the horseman on the "Other Guy" or anyone else. She knew how Clint would react to almost any situation, providing an advantage if things didn't go according to plan. They worked well together, there was a reason Nick Fury had put them on multiple high-risk missions as a team. But she never went against authority unless she was one hundred percent against the order, and Rogers was an excellent leader. She only hoped he knew what he was doing on this one. Bruce seemed nervous too, and that put her even more on edge.

They finally reached the entrance to the town, and it was evident that the fighting was far from over. Store windows were shattered, trashcans dumped, cars flipped over and all of it was on fire. People were everywhere, punching and kicking each other like crazed animals. Angry screams and battle calls echoed off of the remaining buildings, and tire fires blocked the alleyways, creating the billowing black smoke stacks they'd seen when they landed. A few civilians were slumped against walls, some dead, all bloodied. Natasha noticed that there was no gunfire, and everyone seemed to be using handheld weapons like sticks and broken glass. It already looked like the aftermath of a massacre, but the bloodshed was still going on.

Bruce stopped suddenly. Natasha turned, a flash of fear in her eyes.

"I can't go in there," Bruce blurted out, shaking his head.

"Come on, the faster we get that horseman, the better." She put on the most unconvincing smile she'd ever faked. Bruce saw right through it and took a step back.

"No. I can feel it already."

"Feel what?"

"Rage," he said simply.

She gritted her teeth, feeling an unexpected rush of annoyance. "We need to find out what happens when Hulk gets in the effect zone."

"I'm pretty sure I can tell from right here that it's going to affect him." Bruce's eyes were wide as he looked into the heart of the town once more.

"We aren't even inside the city limits yet. Get in there," she snarled. He was being pathetic. Her temper flared as Bruce started to back away further. She couldn't do this mission without him, not with all the rioters to contend with. She was only human, but  _Bruce_ , Bruce was a monster.

"What are you doing?" Bruce shouted. She blinked, following his gaze to the pistol in her hand, drawn and cocked. Aimed straightat him. She quickly lowered the weapon, stuttering as she tried to think of something to say to apologize. She didn't even remember taking it out of her holster!  _The horseman._  She was feeling the effects too. She activated the safety on her pistol, returning it to its spot at her side and brushing her hands on her leggings as though it would clear her conscience. How was she supposed to fight off a horseman if she was trying to kill her own teammate?

"I-I don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Bruce," she looked to the blackened pavement, still shocked at herself.

"It's okay, it wasn't you. But I think I know who we're dealing with here," Bruce replied quietly.

"Who?"

"War."

Natasha nodded slowly. That made sense, the urge to fight certainly fit. She dug the envelope out and unfolded the paper inside. "Nick wrote bios on all the remaining horseman…I know I saw it a second ago…here," she cleared her throat. " _When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, 'Come and see!' Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given the power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword."_

"Like that one?" Bruce pointed into the frenzy of angry civilians. A gleaming silver sword was slashing through the crowd, taking out any attacker that came too close. Natasha was no expert on swordsmithing specifications, but this one looked larger than anything she'd seen at a renaissance faire. Not that she had ever been to one or anything. The wielder was a thick-set man with a bushy black beard and a bloodstained face. He was laughing maniacally, hacking away at anything that moved. He looked to be in charge of a small militia, a group of equally-bloodstained men armed with crowbars and bats.

"I'll go after him, you find a way to trap him," Bruce growled. "If I get compromised, just stay hidden. I'll level the place and probably take out the horseman anyway."

"Be careful, don't let him touch you," Natasha said with a nod.

Bruce smiled as his skin began to turn green and his body began to morph. Natasha decided not to wait around to see if he was going to be hostile and slipped into the shadows of a burned out storefront. The Hulk gave a loud roar as he lurched forward, throwing people aside like ragdolls. Usually she would have protested the possibility of harming civilians, but in this case they would end up murdering each other regardless of the Hulk's involvement. The crowd began to realize that they were outmatched and began to channel all of their energy at Bruce. He didn't seem to mind very much as he clobbered people on his way to the horseman. He was going to be fine.

She discovered that the strip mall in the center of town was basically useless for providing a trap, as half the buildings could collapse at any moment due to the flames. The only building that looked acceptable was the restaurant, and Natasha suspected it was the restaurant where everything started. Blood spatters decorated the windows and a few of the first victims hadn't made it past the doorstep. She spotted a rusty red horse that was tied to the bike rack nearby, unscathed by any of the rioters. She peered closer, noticing that its eyes were completely black and lifeless, like a shark's. It shifted on its hooves, boredly staring at the rage-filled masses as they pillaged the town. The fiery red horse, just as described. She swallowed, then carefully stepped around the bodies and opened the door.

A bell tinkled above her as she entered the dark restaurant and she scanned for any signs of the enemy. She'd have to clear every room before she used it as any sort of bait. The last thing she needed was an unexpected pack of angry people jumping her once she'd caught the horseman. A half-dozen people were still duking it out by the bar, but what caught her eye was the young man sitting at one of the tables playing a game of chess. He looked to be her age, with ruffled dark hair and piercing eyes so blue she could see them from the front door. He seemed not to care that the world around him was falling apart, and instead he focused on his chess game, even though he was playing himself. She gripped her pistol as she approached, ready to shoot him if he so much as moved too fast.

Before she could speak, he looked up. She froze as he offered a polite smile as though he'd been expecting her.

"Ah, it's about time, I was getting worried." She watched his eyes for any signs that he was faking, but he kept eye contact and his pupils stayed level. An inkling of fear ran through her. She hated being out of the loop, that was one of the reasons she was a spy.

"You were expecting me?" she said coolly, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, Natasha." His voice was icy as he smiled at her again.

In a flash her gun was in front of her, leveled at his head. "Who are you?" she demanded. Very few people knew her name, and this guy was not one of those few.

"I thought you might do that. This is a weapons-free facility, I'm afraid you'll have to put the gun down." He motioned to the floor, still slick with blood.

"I'll put it down after there's a bullet in your skull," she hissed.

The man sighed. "Why was I expecting any different? Boys, let's get our guest a seat, shall we?"

The fights at the bar stopped instantly, and suddenly six men were lunging at her. She'd seen worse. Her fist connected with the first man's nose, knocking him onto the floor. She used his body as a springboard, kicking her next attacker in the kidney and gracefully swinging around to elbow someone coming from behind. She blocked a punch, twisting the hairy arm until she heard a crack. Another punch just missed her head and she shot a foot back and smashed it into a belly. She rocketed off a few good kicks and punches, trying to get over to the counter to break some beer bottles over their heads. She would wait to use her pistol until absolutely necessary, as always. The fight continued and she began to notice that her usual finishing moves weren't having their usual effect. A kick to the throat only put a guy down for thirty seconds when it usually kept them out of the fight. Something was wrong. Just as the thought crossed her mind she was tackled to the ground, smashed underneath the weight of the man whose arm she'd broken only moments before.

"Cuff her." She heard the blue-eyed man's voice over the heavy breathing of his fighters and felt cold metal handcuffs get clasped around her wrist. She tried not to smile as they lifted her to her feet. Metal cuffs were hardly a threat.

They tossed her into the booth across from the blue-eyed man, who was still sporting his wicked smile.

"I must say, I'm impressed. For a powerless Avenger, you do have quite the kick," he mused, cocking his head. Her eyes narrowed, fighting the urge to spit at him. She just had to stall him long enough to get the cuffs off, which never took her very long.

"I'm flattered," she said tartly.

"But believe me when I say I haven't underestimated you, Nat." His eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't call me that," she retorted. She fiddled with the lock on the cuffs, nearly free.

"Oh, sorry. That's Barton's nickname for you, is it not?"

Her blood froze, but she didn't dare show it. She had no idea who this man was or how he even knew she and Clint worked together. Their work was almost never documented, not anywhere except for the Avengers files.

"Makes you angry doesn't it?" There was that smile again.

"What?"

"Those cuffs. I assure you, they aren't coming off." She jerked her wrists and found that he was right. She'd picked the lock all right, but they still didn't budge. So he was smarter than he looked.

"What do you want?" she asked, pursing her lips.

"Play me." He motioned to the chess board.

"Sorry, I'm a little tied up at the moment," she growled. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, I know you can at least get them out from behind your back."

She scowled, managing to get her knees to her chest and slipping her hands from behind her back. Almost as easy as picking the lock, yet just as ineffective. She looked at the chess board, trying to figure out his plan of attack. He was manipulative and probably psychopathic, that was the only explanation as to why he was playing games in the middle of a war zone, and why she couldn't tell if he was lying or not. But he was smart. She selected a bishop and moved it forward on the board.

"Why did you capture me?" she asked calmly. Using vocabulary that implied he was in control was key to getting him to talk.

"Because we need to talk, obviously," he shrugged. He moved a pawn forward.

"Then talk."

"You're trying to play me, Natasha. I know that. It won't work, I know everything about you, how fast you can reload a rifle, how many missions you've been on, your favorite weapon, I even know you're favorite type of cereal." His coy smile was getting on her nerves more than what he was saying.

"Oh really? Then what is it?" She moved a pawn forward, mirroring his move.

"You don't have a favorite type of cereal, you like having an English muffin with jam for breakfast. With a glass of chocolate milk."

She swallowed, desperately searching her memory for any trace of this man. She didn't find any.

"I also know about Budapest. But it's what happened after Budapest that's so… _juicy_." He scanned her face and she used every last shred of willpower to keep herself from showing emotion. "Right after your first real mission with Clint, after all of the team spirit, _companionship_ , he goes to dinner with…oh what was her name, Soraya, wasn't it?"

Her lip twitched, unable to keep it contained. No one knew about that, no one.

"And it broke your heart; it put a big ol' crack right down the middle. Because you thought you lo—"

"Stop!" she snapped. "You're trying to make me angry and get under my skin to make me tell you something. It's not going to work. I've seen it a thousand—"She stopped suddenly, an overwhelming urge to kill the man in front of her clouded her thoughts, crowding her brain with the image of him bleeding out on the floor. She craved his death; she needed to see his blood on her hands as she watched him die in front of her. She wanted to kill him so bad it hurt; every fiber of her body was yearning to attack him, to strangle him. She jumped forward, going for his throat. The chess pieces scattered, falling to the floor as she dove for him. She'd claw his eyes out with her fingernails if she had to, just to see him in pain. Her hands grasped his neck and she dug her nails into his skin, bloodlust in her eyes.

Then, as suddenly as the feeling came upon her, it was gone. She blinked, releasing him. He cocked his head, blue eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"See? If I want to make you angry, all I have to do is sit here." He leaned closer until she could feel his breath on her face. She retreated, feeling herself begin to tremble. He continued to lean in, even as she pressed against the back of her seat. Her captors had invaded her personal space countless times, kissed her, sometimes she'd kissed back if that's what her mission entailed; but nothing compared to this man. He made her truly frightened, and the feeling of her breath on her neck made her shiver.

"You needed to see what we are capable of, Natasha," he murmured. "Bruce? No, he isn't nearly as  _effective_  as you are." Natasha tensed, waiting for his lips to brush her skin. But he pulled away, moving back just until they were nose to nose. She heard a distant cry of pain, and winced as she recognized it as the Hulk.

"Let him go," she growled, but her voice was shaking.

"Oh, I'm planning on it, don't worry," he smirked and she saw something sinister in his electric blue irises. He chuckled and shook his head. "You still don't know who I am, do you?"

She said nothing, feeling as though it was better to keep quiet. If he had the capability to hold the Hulk hostage, she hated to think what he might do to her. She hadn't felt this helpless since she was a child, but that…power he'd used on her was the most intense feeling she'd ever experienced. It was raw; there was not an ounce of concern or anything remotely human in that feeling. She swallowed, desperately trying to think of a plan as he began to unbutton his shirt. He caught her gaze and laughed.

"I'm not that sick," he said in an attempt to reassure her. He shoved a hand down his shirt and pulled out a necklace, dangling it in front of her face. She'd been on enough missions involving precious gems to see that it was made of pure gold. It was a sword, elaborate with details so tiny she couldn't imagine how they were carved. The hilt was made of ruby, a glowing red color that was extremely rare.

"It's my sword. I think you may have had it confused with the wannabe knight parading around out there." He flashed his twisted smile at her again. Her nostrils flared, realizing that he was talking about the man Bruce had gone after, the one they'd thought was War. "Now you get it."

"I'm going to kill you myself," Natasha spat. "We're going to find out how to stop you and I'll kill you without your little magic trick helping me do it."

War inhaled sharply, clucking in mock disapproval. "You may think you have it figured out, sweetheart, but you don't. Famine was a test. It's the rest of us you really have to worry about." He ducked away, picking up his fallen king from the floor. It was smudged with blood, but he didn't seem to mind as placed it back on the table and back in position on the board.

"I have one last thing for you before I go talk to Bruce. Okay?"

"Don't talk to me like I have a choice," Natasha snarled. Before she could move he kissed her. She yanked her head back but it slammed against the back of her seat and he pressed into her. His lips felt white-hot, sending ripples of pain down her throat. For a moment she only saw his eyes turn from blue to crimson red; then she saw Clint, standing in front of her with frosted blue eyes, taking aim with his crossbow, controlled by Loki. Then in Budapest when she'd surprised him and he'd nearly stabbed her with a machete. Dozens of flashbacks seared through her brain, blurring into a contorted bundle of memories, all spawning from War's lips. She tried to shake the memories, as if shoving them away would help her forget the torture she was currently undergoing.

War broke the kiss, but kept his eyes on her. "Don't try to forget them," he whispered, his voice dripping with venom, "or you'll forget them forever." She tensed, fearing he was going to kiss her again, but he drew away, dropping his necklace back underneath his shirt and eyes turning blue again. He grabbed her hand. She tore away from his grasp, but he caught her wrist with lightning speed. His eyes burned into hers as he lifted her hand and kissed it. She gasped with pain as his lips touched her skin once more, feeling as though someone had pressed a branding iron across the back of her palm. She calmly closed her eyes; mentally preparing herself to endure whatever else he had planned. She had trained for moments like this before. Suddenly the cuffs unlocked and she heard the thud as they hit the table. She opened her eyes. War was gone, along with all of the chess pieces. She breathed slowly as she inspected her hand; a bright red crescent shape marked where he'd kissed her. She ran her tongue along her lips, but they felt normal compared to the burning of her hand.

"Natasha?" She jumped at Bruce's voice. He was covered in blood, with a black eye and numerous slashes across his arms as if he'd been whipped. She looked away before she started assessing his injuries. She didn't want to know.

"Come on, let's get back." He held out a hand. She slowly grabbed it, fearing that it wasn't really Bruce at all. But it was, and he gripped her hand tightly as he practically pulled her up from her seat. His brown eyes were clouded with worry as he looked at her burn mark. "Are you okay?" She noticed his voice was slurred by his swollen lower lip. She nodded swiftly, but still felt shaken by the experience

"What about you? You look awful." She tried to smile, but couldn't bring herself to do it.

"I'll be fine. Thanks to the Other Guy, I heal pretty quickly. I was just worried they'd done the same thing to you." He turned toward the door, and she gasped at the sight of his back. Deep, gruesome whiplashes had torn up most of his backside, and a steady stream of blood was running down his spine.

"Oh my god. Bruce, what did they do to you?" she breathed.

He shrugged, causing him to wince in pain. "I have no idea. I woke up like this. It was weird, I've never come back with wounds before," he paused, looking out the window to the burning streets. "We underestimated them, big time."

"I know," Natasha murmured. "I know."

"But hey, I managed to find a pair of pants!" Bruce smiled softly. Natasha shook her head, laughing weakly. They stepped back into the evening light, the smell of burning rubber and smoke filling the air as they made their way through the debris. War was gone, and with it his influence over the town. Civilians were waking up from their stupors, drowsily making their way back home. She could see the sleek black S.H.I.E.L.D vehicles waiting for them at the entrance and found herself missing Coulson. He was the only agent she really knew from SHIELD, the only familiar face in the crowd whenever she was finished with a mission. Now, she knew no one and the feeling wasn't as comforting as it had been before. Medical staff jumped from the cars as they saw Bruce's ravaged body, attacking him with gauze and Neosporin and sweeping him away from her. It was strange watching him being carted off, she almost went with him. They'd both been tortured for the same cause and that was a tough connection to break. She didn't know what War had meant by "visiting" with him, but she could guess it was painful. She slid into an open car door and grimaced as she could still smell the reek of blood on her clothes from the restaurant.

"Natasha." Nick's voice sounded next to her and she jumped. He cocked an eyebrow, studying her face. She was a hard girl to scare and he knew it.

"We need to talk to Steve and Thor and tell them what's going on. We've underestimated everything," said Natasha.

Nick rubbed his chin, looking out the car window for a moment before speaking, his voice somber.

"About that…I'm afraid there's been a situation." Her breath caught in her throat. There was a reason Nick Fury was in this car with her, there was a reason he wasn't at headquarters, and there was a reason he hadn't tried to reach her over the radio. She looked away, biting her lip. How could they have been so naïve?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

Steve Rogers had a hard time understanding why anyone wanted to live by the sea. During the summer it was great, but all the other seasons were windy, cold, and mostly miserable. Back in the day, only the richest of the rich had nice houses by the sea, only inhabited a few months a year when the weather was good. Now, though, it seemed to be a fad to own a vacation home. The neighborhoods of Duck, North Carolina were mostly deserted along the shore, their massive windows were dark and only a few cars rolled by. It didn't seem like the best place for a horseman to go that wanted to do any real damage. The sound of crashing waves could be heard from where they were walking, the smell of seas salt filling the air, though the beach was almost a half mile away. Thor was fascinated by the emptiness and had endless questions about vacations, beach houses and the aspect of 'going to the beach;' most of which Steve didn't feel like explaining with the threat of the apocalypse hanging overhead.

"Where is this horseman?" Thor asked, swiveling to look at a particularly fancy front porch.

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Nick said all the people here decided that they wanted to be ruled by a monarchy. "

"Is there something wrong with that?" Thor cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, this is America, we don't have kings," Steve replied bluntly.

"Well," Thor huffed, "Perhaps a king is what is lacking in this realm."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. Well, Americans have always had their own ideas about who's in charge."

They turned onto the main road that was lined with scraggily shrubs and the occasional crushed soda can. Far from the decadent surroundings inside the neighborhoods. It was a glimpse at what the real town was like for the people who lived there year-round. Steve could see the tops of the much smaller houses behind the shrubs, the real houses. He motioned to Thor to follow him and crept toward the edge of the bushes. He peeked around to get a look at the street and saw a crowd people standing a few hundred meters away, facing away from them. They didn't make a sound; they were just standing there under the overcast sky. A neon sign that read "Knight's Tavern" fizzled in the distance and seemed to be what the crowd was looking at.

"Come on, let's go," Steve whispered, gripping his shield a little tighter. Something was up, and he was betting it was the horseman. He didn't know if the crowd was going to turn on them, but he would be ready if they did.

They moved into the crowd and no one moved. The people were staring straight ahead, eyes glazed and wearing bored expressions. It made him nervous, reminding him of Loki's tesseract mind control. If there was anything he hated more than bullies, it was the idea that some people liked to enslave the minds of others. It made his blood boil just thinking about how little had changed since the war. He didn't know what he had expected the future to be like while he and Bucky were fighting for their lives, but he definitely had not expected things to get worse. He had read about MKULTRA, the CIA's cruel, illegal, human experimentation program that used American citizens as test subjects for mind control experiments. His own country, only a few years after he had been frozen in the ice, had been practically brainwashing its own citizens. Loki had used mind control, and it appeared the horsemen were mentally affecting the crowd around them. The mind, it seemed, was something everyone wanted to tame.

"Look." Thor nodded toward something in the distance. Steve craned his neck to see what he was staring at. When he saw it, his blood ran cold. A beautiful white horse was standing proudly in the center of the street, watching them with its dark black eyes. It was the epitome of everything a horse should be, with long slender legs, square shoulders and a broad, powerful neck. Just the sight of it demanded respect. It lifted its head as they approach, its ashen nose stretched out in greeting. Thor lifted a hand and smiled brightly as the horse nuzzled his palm.

"Such a beautiful creature I have not seen in a long time," Thor murmured, rubbing up the horse's muzzle.

"It's the horseman's," said Steve darkly. "But where is he?"

The horse nickered softly as Thor's hand returned to his side. "Perhaps he is gone."

"Yeah, and I'm sure he just forgot about his horse," Steve grumbled sarcastically.

Thor chuckled as the horse nuzzled his chest and began to pet it again. Steve moved around to the side of it, looking for any sign that it had been wearing a saddle. The horse's back was perfectly sloped, with no hints that it had been sweating with a saddle on its back, only a snow-white coat. It nickered again, turning to inspect him. As its eyes burned into him, he remembered he really didn't like horses. They were very unpredictable and half the time he saw them they were trying to clobber someone to death. He smiled weakly and lifted a hand to its nose, just as Thor had done. The horse snorted loudly and turned back to the demigod, ears flattened. Thor laughed gruffly, scratching the horse between the ears.

"I guess it doesn't like me, huh?" Steve chuckled, patting the horse on the shoulder.

"Ah, that is because you are frightened of it," Thor said with a grin. "Horses can sense fear."

"You know, everyone says that. 'Horses can tell when you're scared,' but I think that's just an excuse. I think the horse is the one that's scared."

"If you owned a horse, I may be inclined to believe you," Thor chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly the horse tossed its head and threw Thor backwards with surprising force. It emitted a high-pitched, screaming whinny, flattening its ears and baring it teeth like a snarling dog. Steve jumped back, scarcely missing a kick. The horse reared up and pummeled the air with its front hooves as Thor scrambled to his feet. It slammed back onto all fours with a savage snort.

"Be still," Thor soothed, lifting a hand to calm the beast. The horse snapped, biting the demigod's wrist. Thor retracted his arm, swearing loudly and clutching his injury. Steve jumped forward as the horse reared again, defending his friend as the horse pounded his shield with metallic clangs. His arm strained with effort to keep the shield upright as he pulled Thor back and away from the churning hooves.

"Hey! Don't touch that horse!" Steve turned to see a man from the crowd staring at him. In fact, everyone in the crowd was staring at him, and none of them looked happy.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Steve growled. "Thor, I'm gonna need your help here!"

He was answered with a crack of thunder as Thor stood up. They stood back to back, Steve facing the horse and Thor facing the crowd. Even with Mjolnir, the Captain doubted the God of Thunder could take on a crowd so big by himself. The people began to close in, saying nothing. The scowls on their faces said enough. The horse backed away, then charged forward and slammed into Steve's shield with its chest. Now he understood why medieval soldiers feared the cavalry so much. He landed harshly on his back and used every ounce of strength he had to keep the horse off of him.

Suddenly the weight of the beast was gone and he looked up to see Thor swinging his hammer. He jumped away, swinging wildly and knocking away hoards of civilians as they tried to jump him. Steve got to his feet and began to help, knocking away a few people that came running at him.

"Hail the monarchy! Praise the monarchy!" the crowd began to chant, throwing their fists in the air as they ran at the two Avengers. Steve shot Thor a skeptical look, and the Asgardian shrugged before whacking another group of people away. The horse had disappeared, and Steve felt a little better about the situation now that the devilish creature was gone, as there was only a sea of humans to contend with now.

"Captain! The tavern!" Thor pointed to the entrance of the building, and Steve saw a white flash vanish down a flight of stairs. He jumped over a pile of civilians and vaulted over a parked car, landing smoothly in front of the tavern entrance. A narrow stairwell lead down to a door where another neon sign dimly announced that the tavern was open. He readied his shield as he made his way down the stairs and carefully pushed the door open.

The tavern was set to look medieval, with a fake cobblestone floor and rich wooden booths and barstools. Fake candles lined the walls, made to look as if they had been burning for days with fake wax dribbled down the sides, held up by cast iron brackets. Two jeweled chandeliers hung over the center of the empty dining area, illuminating the 15th-century artwork that hung around the room. A knight stood guard at the edge of the bar, an empty iron shell of armor with a dull sword that served as yet another art piece. Whoever owned the place had a thing for the medieval era, and though the floors were tacky, everything else seemed expensive.

A girl sat at the bar, lazily running her finger around the rim of her brimming wine glass. She looked drunk, but, more importantly, she looked unaffected by the horseman's powers. She wore a light blue cocktail dress that showed much more skin than the Captain was used to seeing on a lady. Her blonde hair swung forward as she bent over to take a sip from the glass and after a moment she paused, finally realizing she had a visitor. She looked up and upon seeing him she began to laugh.

"Well, look who it is. Captain America, the hero from TV," she said with a slight slur.

Steve cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Sorry ma'am, but I need you to evacuate the building."

"Sure, sure," she chuckled as she resumed tracing the edge of her glass. "Come over here, I have to tell you something. "

He was about to decline, but then he remembered that she wasn't affected by the horseman. Who knew, maybe she was going to tell him how to be immune to the effects. Or just make some wise crack about his outfit, but he'd have to take that chance. He heard a snap from outside as Thor brought down another bolt of lightning and felt a lash of unease, unsure about visiting with some girl who may or may not be important while the god was in a fight for his life. With a sigh, Steve slowly made his way to the bar. She motioned to the barstool next to her.

"I'm not going to tell you if you don't sit down like a gentleman!" she giggled, taking another sip. He could smell the alcohol on her breath as he pulled out the stool, sitting awkwardly with his shield still positioned on his arm.

"What did you need to tell me?" he asked impatiently.

"Does it hurt?" she asked suddenly, her pale blue eyes locking with his. He cocked an eyebrow, unsure what she was asking about. "The fact that everyone you knew is dead now?"

He clenched his jaw and moved to get up. She lifted a hand to his cheek before he could stand, searching his face as he blinked in surprise. Her touch was oddly comforting, inviting even. She was just a normal person, a normal girl who wasn't there to save the world or go on some insane mission to capture a band of creatures only described in a few short paragraphs of the Bible. She didn't know or care about any of that, just the wine in front of her and the man sitting beside her. He found himself not wanting to leave, and instead wanting to answer her question. After all, even if he told her everything, she'd be out of his life to carry on his secrets and no one else would believe a word she said.

"It's the most awful feeling in the world."

"Hmm." She grabbed the wine bottle and a fresh glass, pouring him his own drink. He didn't have to think twice before grabbing it and taking a swig of the sweet red liquid. "And what about the Avengers?"

"What about them?"

"From what I've seen, they abuse you."

He nearly choked on his wine, barely containing a snort of laughter. "And why would you say that?"

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Iron Man uses it as a publicity stunt, Thor uses it to show he's a god, Black Widow to show she's a tougher girl…they all have reasons. You don't. You do it because, what did you say before, 'it's the right thing to do'?"

"No. We all do it for the same reason, to protect the Earth and the people who live here."

"An Earth you don't even know anymore, Captain," she said gently.

"It doesn't matter," he snapped defensively.

"Sure. But I see it in your eyes when they show you on TV, you're lost here."

He narrowed his eyes, noticing that the slur in her voice was gone. She hadn't sipped her drink since he'd sat down either.

"See that painting up there?" She pointed at a massive painting of a knight riding across a grassy field on the back of a white stallion. The oil was cracked, creating a mosaic of colorless veins on the canvas. It looked old, but didn't seem to have anything special.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"A white stallion has always been believed to signal war. Kings had fleets of white horses to ride into battle, or simply to make a statement when visiting another kingdom. On hunting trips, men of the highest rank would ride their white stallion after the foxes and hares. Mighty war generals are always portrayed riding, you guessed it, white stallions. But they had it wrong, white is not the color of war, it is the color of conquest." She smiled lightly. "Many a prince in old wives tales has saved the damsel while riding a white stallion. He must  _conquer_  evil in order to save the girl. Generals must  _conquer_  the opposing army, just as hunters must _conquer_  their prey. Women wear white when they marry, not out of purity, especially in this time, but because they are allowing themselves to be _conquered_ by their husbands, whether they know it or not, the symbolism remains."

Steve felt his throat run dry. There was no horseman in this town, but a horsewoman. She'd laid the perfect trap for him, luring him into the tavern alone while Thor battled her minions outside. And posing as an innocent young girl…he felt the anger rise inside him. He was so stupid, he had let his guard down and she had weaseled her way in right under his nose. He jumped to his feet, swinging his shield back to nail her with it.

"Sit back down, Steve," she said softly, "Please."

Just as he was about to strike he found himself in the chair again, shield resting at his side. He jerked, but nothing happened. He was frozen in his spot.

"I already have you, my love. I touched your face, remember?" She flashed a bright smile, brushing a swath of hair behind her ear. "If I wanted to, I could put you completely under my powers right now. You'd only wake up when all of this is over, but I'm letting you stay awake for a little while longer."

"What's the point?" he snarled through gritted teeth.

"You've slept for so long in that ice," she lifted a finger to his lips, "I can still feel the frost on your breath, Captain. Or is that just from your heart?"

He tried to jump at her again, but nothing happened, just as before. She frowned, curling her finger under his chin and tipping his head up slightly, as if examining him. He was going to break her neck the second she let him free.

"I really hadn't expected it to be so easy to catch you. You're a very hard man to reach. Or so I thought, until you walked in the door. I can sense the pain in your heart, Steve Rodgers. It makes you so...delicate," she murmured. She blinked, looking around the room as though she had forgotten something. She turned and reached to the floor, grabbing a black cloth. Pulling it away revealed a silver bow and a stunning diamond crown. She looked back up at him, reading the confusion on his face and laughing.

"You didn't read about me, did you?" She shook her head, " _'I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the creatures say in a voice like thunder, 'Come and see!' I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conquerer bent on conquest.'_  Well, I  _can_  say I was the first on down here, but I keep a lower profile than my starving brother," she rolled her eyes, "And yes, I'm described as male. Women had a bad reputation back then; John was advised to write me in as a male to keep the focus on the writing, not the gender of a horseman." Conquest lifted the crown, placing it daintily on the top of her head. Steve struggled against the growing shadow in his mind, but he could feel himself slipping under her power. She was suddenly face to face with him, cupping his face in her hands. He grunted with effort as he attempted to pull away from her, but was forced to watch as her blue eyes turned solid white.

"No more pain," she whispered.

"Yes, no more pain," Steve heard himself reply. He was torn from his own body but trapped inside it to watch as he followed her to the door. He desperately tried to stop himself but it was no use, she had complete control over him, all from the touch of her finger. The other Avengers wouldn't see it coming, which was exactly what Conquest wanted. It was a feeling much worse than guilt, he would be living a nightmare where he would have to watch himself tear his friends apart and be helpless to stop it.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint stared coldly ahead, forcing himself not to look at Loki lying in front of him. A few short months ago Clint would have done anything to be in this position just to strangle the black-haired snake while he slept. The temptation was definitely still there, especially if he looked down at the god's pained face. Loki had no right to get such good treatment from the rest of the team, especially after what he'd done. Thor should have kept him locked up, or at least brought him back with his muzzle. Just hearing words leave those thin, calculating lips of his made Clint's blood boil. He didn't understand how Thor even wanted the pest hanging around up in Asgard after he'd explained what had happened before Loki's earthly appearance. Clint had read the files on Thor, and the giant fire spewing robot that had nearly turned a group of SHIELD agents to ash had been Loki's fault too. Not many of the other Avengers knew that. He doubted it would change their minds if he told them, they were protecting their newest "companion" like a rare piece of jewelry.

Natasha said he was "too emotionally invested" in the young god for his own good, and perhaps she was right. He didn't see how he couldn't be; Loki had evicted him from his own brain and poisoned him into doing his bidding. That wasn't the part that affected him, it was that he remembered most of it. Not in the beginning, sure, but after the mission was over things began to come back. The people he killed, the collateral damage to the helicarrier that was carrying all of his closest friends, but none held the lasting disgust as when he attempted to kill  _her_. He could deal with the other things he had done, but just the thought that he had the capacity to try and harm her made him want to vomit. Loki knew that, he fed on it, leaving Clint with a reminder that wouldn't go away. The physicist who had helped create the tesseract portal had almost no memory of any details during his brainwashed period. Clint had checked up on him multiple times just to make sure, but the man had not recovered any memories since the event. It was only him, and Clint was positive that it was Loki's sick form of revenge.

Loki's eyelids flickered, and Clint tore his gaze from the heartbeat monitor for a split second. He was waking up. Clint flexed his fingers, his upper lip curling in disgust as he waited. Now was the time where he could make one of those life-defining decisions, an opportunity that he would either take or let pass by. He made those decisions constantly when he was looking down the scope of a Barrett .50 caliber sniper rifle. He could either wait and let his targets continue about their day, blissfully unaware that they were being hunted, or he could take them out. With archery he had slightly more choice, a fraction of an adjustment on his aim could drop a man to the floor and not kill him, or he could plunge the arrow straight through the heart. He was the hunter, life was in his hands. Now, he was given a similar choice. He looked to the work desk positioned next to the chair the young god was sleeping on. A tiny bottle of clear liquid sat on the table that read "Potassium Chloride," next to an unopened syringe. It hadn't taken him very long to get into Tony's medicinal supplies; he had just asked Tony if he could look through it for more saline solution for Loki's IV. Clint knew that Tony's miniature arc reactor was keeping shrapnel out of his heart, so it was only necessary that he kept potassium chloride around in case open heart surgery was required.

Potassium Chloride was used most famously as the final blow in the three drug combination of chemicals used in lethal injections. In low doses it was used to deliver potassium to the body as well as during some forms of cardiac surgery when the operation cannot be performed on a beating heart. Expensive stuff to get, but everyone knew Tony had enough money to buy a potassium chloride factory if he wanted to. Clint was pretty familiar with it; he had to know if enemies were going to inject him with it should he be captured. It had a distinct scent and a diluted milky color that made it instantly recognizable among other drugs. So when he had opened the cabinet it had taken him mere seconds to find it.

He bit his lip and looked at Loki one more time before reaching for the syringe. The plastic wrapping crinkled and fell to the ground as Clint prepared the needle. A hundred miliequivalents was all it took to kill man three times over, and watching the liquid fill the syringe was almost disappointing when the 100 mEq mark was reached so quickly. He placed the bottle of fluid back on the table and poised the syringe over Loki's forearm. Just as he was about to strike, Loki's emerald eyes flew open. Clint silently moved the syringe up his wrist, keeping it out of the god's sight.

"Welcome back," Clint greeted coldly.

Those vibrant green eyes filled with fear as Loki realized who was sitting next to him, then changed to a look of annoyance. "It is my pleasure."

"Hmm," the spy grunted.

"Where is my brother?"

"Halfway down the East Coast. Worlds away from you," Clint sneered.

A smirk tugged at the god's lips. "You still harbor hatred for me."

"Excuse me for not falling in love with you after you hijacked my brain."

"I must admit, you were quite the soldier," Loki broke his stare, "But I am not here with ulterior motives this time. I hope you can put the past behind you and accept my help."

"Sorry, not happening," he spat, "You should be dead for what you did, I don't care what the others say about it."

"I understand that you are upset." The god lifted a hand, placing two slender fingers on Clint's temple. "But I did everything I could to right it. Have you not noticed your memories returning to you?"

The spy mustered a livid glare, trembling as he tried to stop himself from shoving the hidden needle straight in Loki's heart. "You've cursed me, you sick monster!"

"Pity, I thought you wanted to remember the look in her eyes when you—"

Enough was enough. Clint lunged, landing heavily on Loki's chest, knocking the wind out of his weak body. He fastened his hands around the god's pale neck, pressing the needle against his flesh. Loki's neck craned back, but his eyes were still locked with Barton's.

"Go on, kill me," Loki hissed. Clint gritted his teeth, knowing it would only take a tiny push and the needle would pierce his carotid artery, a flick of his thumb and the heart stopping poison would be pumping through his system. He was so close to doing it, only a few millimeters of skin separated him from his goal. Time for his choice. Time to decide. Loki jerked beneath him, jarring him from his dark thoughts. He yelled in frustration, twirling the syringe around his fingers and pulling himself off of the man he had almost murdered. For once, he felt relieved that he hadn't killed him. Not because it was the wrong thing to do, but because he wouldn't be able to hand the look of disappointment in Natasha's eyes if she found out. He released the syringe and let it clatter to the floor. As he stepped toward the door he felt the thin plastic cylinder shatter beneath his boot, allowing the potassium chloride to dribble harmlessly onto the floor.

* * *

Loki gingerly pulled the IV needle from his skin, wincing at the thought that someone had that using a microscopic metal tube to bring fluids to the body was a good idea. Healing magic was much less…invasive. He brought a hand to his neck, rubbing the spot where Clint Barton's needle had grazed his skin. In all honesty he had no idea that the superspy had been wielding anything, and something told him he was lucky to escape that encounter alive. His brother would be most displeased to find that he had provoked one of the Avengers but it was so natural for him to aggravate them. One visit to Midgard would not change that, and if Thor thought it would, he was a fool. His head was pounding from the experiment and his legs quivered as he stood. He only remembered being closed in the glass cage and the bright flash as Tony fired the gun. Hunger gnawed at his belly, though it seemed much less than what his brother had endured.

The lab was empty now that Barton had left, and it became eerily quiet. All of the lights were off, and as Loki stripped the rest of the chords and tubes from his body the machinery shut down. Sunlight still illuminated the room, but it was obvious that Tony Stark was not returning anytime soon. Even Tony's robotic assistant was silent as he approached the thick glass window, looking out into the metropolis below. Humans wandered about the city streets, vehicles bellowed at each other and pigeons settled on power lines, happily enjoying the day. He pressed his palm to the glass and felt the cool chill on his skin. The world that was supposed to be his. Though he knew what he had done was wrong, the option to control the Earth had been offered to him and if it was offered again he would still have difficulty deciding whether or not to take it. Thor was wrong in calling him changed. As much as he despised it, he feared in was ingrained in him to try for power.

"Brother?" A low rumble sounded next to him. Loki looked up to see his Asgardian brother standing there, his blue eyes clouded with concern.

"I was told you were away," he turned back to the window.

"Indeed I was. I have only just returned. Tell me, are you feeling better?"

Sometimes Thor acted more like his mother than a brother. "Yes, much," he answered flatly.

Thor smiled, looking to the deep blue sky blanketing the city. "I ask because when I offered to stay here with you, I was turned away." There he went, starting conversation where it wasn't wanted.

"Hmm. Just as I was barred from you," Loki murmured, squinting to inspect a man below as he ran across the street. He wished to be left alone, he had not gotten a second without someone breathing down his neck, literally in Clint's case. He rubbed his neck once more, half expecting to find blood on his fingers. He knew the people here were never going to trust him,that they would only remember him as the one who nearly brought their world to ruin. Oddly enough, it didn't bother him to be considered the irreconcilable villain; that sounded better than a "bad-guy-turned-good."

"Something has happened, Loki." The grave tone in his brother's voice made him look up. "Steve Rogers has gone missing."

Now  _that_  was interesting. The man who had valiantly led the charge throughout both of the Avengers' quests was gone. He couldn't help but smile at the chaos that was sure to follow. "Strange. Do they have any clue where he has gone?"

"No, he went into a tavern to search for the horseman and he never came out." Thor's eyes were downcast and Loki couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for his brother. He never liked to see him unhappy, even if it was about something that could end up being a positive. With the Captain's disappearance, SHIELD agents would be too busy to keep a close eye on a lowly ex-villain.  _Unless…_ Loki looked up.

"Do the others know?" Something about Thor's tone suggested that it was a secret, that Rogers' disappearance had not yet been revealed to the others.

"No, I have told only you," Loki raised an eyebrow as Thor began to smile, "Your test has come, Loki. You can now prove that you are worthy of respect here!"

The words sent tremors down his spine and breathed a cold chill over his skin. Worthiness, a word he hated more fiercely than any foe. The very fact that one must prove they are worthy for anything was a lie, being the God of Mischief, he knew a thing or two about deception. Each attempt to become worthy of his brother's place, to become worthy of the crown, the artifacts, or even worthy of his father's love had failed miserably. Worthiness was a word used to fool others into thinking their decisions were approved of.

"I have no desire to prove anything to  _them,_ " Loki hissed.

"Then prove it to me."

Loki crossed his arms, grimacing as he put pressure on the spot where the IV needle had been inserted. It  _would_  be nice to walk through the halls without being glared at. They would still think him crooked, but maybe they would loosen their control.

"I am positive I know where he was taken. When we rescue him together they will see how you have changed," Thor said as he rested a hand on Loki's shoulder. The God of Mischief nodded slowly, accepting the quest. His golden-haired brother gave a hearty laugh, slapping him roughly on the back before heading toward the door. He motioned for Loki to follow and the two stepped into the hall. Thor checked for SHIELD agents as they rounded each corner and headed for the exit.

When they reached the doors, a shout sounded behind them. "Hey! Loki isn't allowed to leave unless Fury gives him permission!" Clint Barton's voice cut through the bustling crowd of SHIELD agents like butter. Loki could see his brother's annoyance as the Asgardian turned. His throat tightened, remembering the syringe.

"I should think he is allowed to depart with his brother," Thor rumbled threateningly. Clint's jaw clenched, his steely grey eyes narrowed.

"We know Steve is missing." The room fell into silence. Hawkeye lifted his bow that had been hidden in the crowd, knocking an arrow into place with smooth efficiency. "Leave Loki here."

Thor lifted Mjolnir and Loki tensed in preparation for a colossal battle in the middle of SHIELD headquarters. He hadn't seen his brother this angry since he had tried to toss him off of Stark Tower. The workers ducked, cowering at the sight of the mighty God of Thunder. It made Loki's stomach churn with jealousy. Instead of striking, Mjolnir began to spin, flashing into a grey and brown wheel above Thor's head as he prepared to take flight. He grabbed Loki and yanked him to his side as Clint fired off an arrow. The hammer easily deflected it, shattering it to pieces. Paper began to swirl around the room, blocking Hawkeye's vision as the other-worldly brothers shot into the air and took out a section of the floor above.

Loki watched with wide eyes as the world got smaller and smaller beneath him. He was not used to being flown around; his techniques of teleportation were much more effective for such things. Being held above the ground at such a height and being held in place by nothing more than his brother's right arm worried him. His vision began to whirl, the effects of the experiment coming back to him with full force. The young god realized that he did not know where they were headed, but it didn't matter. He fought the dizziness away, but whatever alien substance that had been pumped into his blood had clogged his mind, and he slipped into darkness.

* * *

An arsenal of expensive lab equipment lay in a heap around Tony Stark as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a scowl on his face. Since the teams had left on their missions, he'd been plugging away at every microwave emitter, sonic device and atomic reading device he could get his hands on. He'd picked, prodded and shocked Famine's cloak with everything he knew to use, but the energy readings stayed the same. He was beginning to think it had just been a miracle that he had not been affected, even the titanium alloy of his suit contained traces of the energy signature from the horseman. Nothing he'd tried had done anything to alter or block the energy waves, and Tony found himself unable to explain why.

Bruce was right; he shouldn't have attempted to experiment on Loki. The ionic compound he had chosen to use to stop the horseman's effects _had_ worked when he tested them, but he'd been rushed and only tested it once. Whatever had happened in that test had been the key to finding the answer, and he hadn't even set up JARVIS film or even document it. He groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. All of this Avengers Initiative crap was screwing with him. He needed to go home and get away from this lab. It was too small anyway. Now he had Bruce, one of his best friends, mad at him and the rest of the Avengers were suspicious. Well, Steve was suspicious. Tony didn't like missing out on the action; he hated it actually, but the overwhelming feeling of disappointment at a failed experiment would have made him beyond distracted. And if Spangles had made him go with The Hulk, he might not have come out of that one alive. They'd been gone awhile; Natasha and Bruce were probably finishing up their mission and heading back, taking another horseman off the table. Steve and Thor would probably be done soon too, especially with Thor's ability to call down lightning. It had been easy enough for him to kill Famine singlehandedly, so a double team would be quick work.

A ground-shaking rumble jolted him from his thoughts, and Tony turned to the window of Bruce's lab to see the flash of a red and green cape disappearing into the sky. _Looks like Thunderboy decided to go green,_  he thought with a smirk. A flood of agents rushed from the building and started closing down the sidewalks as curious pedestrians began to gawk at the gaping hole and investigate the probably top secret papers that were floating around.

"Tony!" Clint's voice crackled over the intercom, breathing heavily, "I just talked to Fury, we've got a huge problem."

"I'm so glad you called!" Tony greeted with over-dramatic enthusiasm, "It's been almost two hours since I last talked to you, Clint, I was getting worried!"

"Thor just took off with Loki," the spy panted, ignoring his sarcastic banter.

Stark groaned, whirling around in his chair. "I know I'm supposed to care, but I really, really don't."

"That's not the problem. Steve's gone," Tony sat up, a feeling of dread washing over him. Nobody was supposed to get hurt; nobody was supposed to even get close to getting hurt on these missions. Sure, there was always a risk, but nothing ever happened to them that was serious. And Steve, really? If anything, he was the one who could fight the horsemen and show everyone else how it was done. The guy had no family thanks to his glacial bedroom he had been using for the past 70 years. His own country didn't even remember him except for the old people. Tony didn't even think he had any  _acquaintances_  outside of the Avengers. And now he was gone. He didn't even get to say goodbye, in fact, the last time they talked Tony had called him an asshole.

"Did he…I mean, did they—what's going to happen now?" he asked quietly, the shock still settling in.

"He's not dead, Tony, Conquest has him," Clint laughed.

"Goddammit, Barton! Word choice!" the billionaire shouted angrily, but a rush of relief ran through him, "When you say 'he's gone' what do you expect me to think, he's just taking a vacation to Candyland?"

"Sorry, I guess I should have rephrased that," Tony could hear Clint's smile as he spoke.

"Yeah, you should've. God, you really need to work on that!"

"I know, I know. Anyway, Fury's back with Bruce and Natasha. They've discovered stuff about the horsemen and he says it's urgent," Barton's voice returned to its usual businesslike tone.

"I understand that, but I really have to keep working on this," Tony glanced behind him at one of his monitors, "Besides, my suit isn't even done being repaired yet, it's got a few more hours to go."

"I don't think you get it, we're the only two left. Fury says Nat and Banner aren't leaving headquarters for a while."

"What, did they get hurt?"

"I don't know," Clint answered gravely, "Sounds like it."

"Great, I get sucked into this and I don't even get to go out fighting with the science man," Tony groaned. In reality, he was worried about his friend. He didn't know what had happened, but if it hurt Bruce it had to be bad.

"Tell me about it. I'm going to make sure things are good down here and then I'm heading up to the briefing room."

"I'll race ya." He shut off his receiver and started dragging his experimentation files onto a handheld monitor. Bruce was going to need everything in order to continue working on finding the cure. "Jarvis, can you speed up those repairs please? I don't need it to look pretty, just need it to work."

"I can have repairs completed in a half an hour if you wish," JARVIS replied.

"Well what did you need two more hours for?"

"Polishing and repainting titanium alloy in a new facility is harder than it may seem."

"Whatever, just have it done when I get back," Tony called over his shoulder.

"I shall certainly try," the robot assured him as he left the room. As he walked, he couldn't help but think about what would actually happen if one of them died during this mission. Even though Steve was still alive, he was in very real danger. There was no telling what the horseman would do to him or how much longer he would be able to handle the horseman's powers. Clint and Thor had less than a second of contact and they were down for twelve hours, Steve was going on three or four hours straight.  _Just hang in there, Capsicle, I'm coming to get you out of there._


	10. Chapter 10

Clint Barton had always been a man who would rather observe than lead. He knew about self-preservation and survival, not about teamwork and companionship. Being a spy was the perfect profession for a man like him; he simply watched his target and reported back to his superiors. Occasionally, he killed people, injured people, deceived people, sometimes all three. Other times he was forced to attend social events, establish fake relationships and worm his way into inner circles, James Bond type stuff. But it was never about the thrill or even about success; he simply did what he was told. It just so happened that he did it well. He was a perfectionist, the only trait accepted for his field. Long hours at the shooting range, archery practice, and forensic training were not activities that could be done by those who didn't strive for perfection. It was a craving so strong he could feel it burning in his gut. Wiping fingerprints was a natural reaction, as instinctive as breathing. Clean kills were his specialty and S.H.I.E.L.D took notice. They needed someone who could take out targets without making a sound, a person who had proven themselves superhuman in their ability to end lives and go on living with themselves. Clint was that man. Problem was, he hated working with others. Other agents tried to make small talk, to form relationships and generally make his missions miserable. Groups never worked together, there was always a leader calling the shots. A leader who didn't know his team like the back of his hand, nearly getting all of them killed when he'd assigned Clint to ground ops and a low-ranking field agent to snipe. Clint could fight off his attackers just fine, but was almost shot by an enemy sniper rifle when the field agent didn't notice it. After a few covert operations with various S.H.I.E.L.D operatives, he had refused to take on another group mission.

When S.H.I.E.L.D found out, they sent him on a solo mission in Budapest. There was an international conference being held in the heart of the city and a few important clients of a suspected arms dealer were set to attend. He was supposed to infiltrate the conference and discover the client, and once he had his targets, they were supposed to find out how the shipments were being brought in. After that intel was relayed back to headquarters, he was to take out the client as inconspicuously as possible, a relatively easy mission. The target was identified within three days. She was a beautiful blonde Russian woman, the last person he would have expected to be in charge of a multi-million dollar black market weapon initiative. By the conference closing ceremony the shipments were tracked and all that was left was to kill her. But he couldn't. Something in the way she moved so effortlessly through a band of fully armed men that had cornered her one evening made Clint realize that this was no ordinary woman. She looked bored, and through a little extra research he found that she wasn't in charge of the market at all, she had just been hired to act that way. In the end when he had her in his sights with a clean shot, he couldn't do it. She was like a rabid dog, attacking anything and everything with no direction or purpose. He knew SHIELD would love her. So he had lowered his bow and made his call.

As they started working missions together a few months later, she shattered all of his misconceptions about female agents and about working as a team. He found that he actually liked working with her. A couple of months after that and they were the most successful team in the unit. They knew each other better than they knew anyone else. Even when Natasha was assigned to work undercover at Stark Industries, they abandoned protocol and kept in touch.

So the second he saw Natasha in the briefing room, he knew things were far worse than they expected. A she filed in behind Nick Fury and Bruce she didn't even look like the same person, her eyes were blank and she was rubbing her knuckles rhythmically, a sign of stress she had never shown before. Her hair was frazzled and her skin was so pale she looked sickly; her usual dewy glow was gone. Clint's breath caught in his throat, not able to say anything. He had never seen Natasha in anything close to that state, even in the rare instance when she broke down she always recovered within seconds. She looked up at him but her green eyes didn't flicker with the usual friendly recognition, instead she looked away so quickly it seemed like looking at him for too long would cause her physical pain. His chest tightened with what felt like grief, but it became a simmering anger so fast he had no time to place the feeling. He had no idea who had done this to her, but he was going to rip their throat out. Whatever monster had turned his best friend into the shaken woman before him was going to die very slowly.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tony's voice jolted Clint back to present. The billionaire was staring at Bruce, his mouth slightly agape. Clint hadn't even taken a look at the scientist, he had been too focused on Natasha. Bruce was the physical equivalent of what was most likely going on in Nat's head. He was covered in bandages, so much so that it took Clint a few seconds to realize that he wasn't even wearing a shirt. He had bled through most of the gauze, creating a red and white tie-dye effect. Every inch of exposed skin was blackened and bruised, and his lower lip was so swollen it looked like he was pouting. A massive black eye peeked out from underneath a heavy-duty band aid, and only one bloodshot brown eye remained visible on Bruce's face.

"Sit down, we have a lot to cover in a short period of time," said Nick, sounding exhausted. Tony stood there a moment, slowly absorbing the image of his closest friend. Clint put a hand on his shoulder, forcing himself to act like this was just a speed bump. It took some force, but Tony finally snapped out of it and took a seat. Clint followed, keeping his eyes on Natasha the whole time.

"Famine was the least of our problems. We know that now. Five hours ago, a horseman, we now know that it was War, was in Brookneal, Virginia. He had burned down a better part of the town and all of the citizens were attempting to kill each other, death count was somewhere around 550 last time I checked," Nick lowered his head, allowing a moment to pass before continuing, "Meanwhile, in Duck, North Carolina, Conquest had brainwashed all of the citizens, who then attacked Thor and Rogers. Steve was infected and taken to an unknown location. Thor fled before we arrived, but Conquest left us a nice little note to tell us what had happened. Then, Thor came back here and took Loki with him and is going on what I suspect is a rescue mission."

"Damn… I always knew Goldilocks would come back to screw with the bears." Tony murmured, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Do we have any idea where they are now?" Clint asked, tearing his gaze from Natasha.

Nick shook his head. "Thor and Loki are long gone, both tracking devices have been disabled, just like Steve's. We do, however, have War's location."

Natasha flinched openly at the horseman's name. Clint tensed, fighting the urge to take her out of there. Nick looked away, turning to face the wall.

"I'm going to repeat myself here, but what did he do to you?" Tony asked, still in awe at Bruce's state.

Banner shifted uncomfortably, shooting a glance at Natasha before clearing his throat. "They did all of this to the Other Guy. I woke up and there were…four guys I think," his voice had such an intense slur that Clint had trouble understanding him. "Two of them had, like, bladed whips, something like that, whatever they were made out of, it wasn't leather. One of them had brass knuckles, which I'm guessing is how I got this," he gingerly touched his face, "Then the last guy comes up and starts talking to me about…something, I forget, I wasn't really conscious and I couldn't really see. Next thing I know he grabs my hand and helps me up."

"He helped you up?" Tony asked incredulously, staring wide-eyed at his friend.

Bruce nodded. "But it hurt, really bad." He lifted a hand, pulling off the bandage to reveal a thumb-shaped burn across his fingers. Tony cringed, leaning back in his chair. "You shoulda seen me right after, I've healed up a lot thanks to the Other Guy."

"He kissed me." Natasha's sudden whisper hit Clint like a smack in the face.

"He what?" the archer growled, failing to contain his rage.

"Twice…" she added softly, "He kissed me twice." Her eyes welled with tears, but in typical Black Widow fashion, she didn't let them fall. Bruce lifted an injured arm, resting it across her shoulders comfortingly.

"That bitch!" Tony snarled, "I'm going to wring his neck! If he thinks—"

"Did he do anything else?" Clint interrupted, feeling his throat close up as he spoke. If War did anything else to her, he didn't even know what torture he could conjure that would be worthy.

Natasha slowly shook her head. "No," she replied, voice trembling. Clint relaxed slightly.

"He tricked us, and Conquest probably tricked Steve too. When you guys go out there, don't let anyone touch you. Don't even touch each other; they could be able to shapeshift or something. War wasn't riding his horse either, but it was still nearby. It's bright red, impossible to miss. If you see the horse, he's close." Bruce looked back to Fury, who just nodded once and stepped out, leaving them alone.

"I mean…shit!" Tony ran a hand through his hair. They sat in silence for a moment before Stark gave a sorrowful sigh. "Well, I guess I'd better show you what I've been working on, Jolly Green." He tried to smile, but failed miserably. Bruce nodded as best he could and stood up, limping around the table and following Tony out. Clint swallowed, getting to his feet.

"Don't," Natasha said, looking up at him, "Don't touch me." He understood, she almost never approved of any sort of physical comfort, Clint was surprised she even let Banner put his arm on her shoulder. That didn't mean he didn't feel a punch of hurt in his chest when she said it. She seemed to sense his pain and looked away. "When I need you, I'll find you."

"You know where I'll be, Nat," he replied, backing away. He turned and left the briefing room without a sound, praying that the Natasha sitting there would be gone before he saw her again.

* * *

Thor landed with a thud, jarring Loki from unconsciousness. The world around him was a blur of green as he tried to regain his footing, but the ground was much softer than expected and he tumbled to his knees. His hands hit the ground, and to Loki's surprise they sunk into the saturated earth, making a thick squelching sound. A foul smell of rotting plant life assaulted his nose and when he took a breath he found that the air was thick and humid. He lifted his hands from the watery ground, trying to get his bearings. They were in a swamp; a thick, overgrown swamp. Frogs belched in the evening air, creating a bellowing chorus that sounded alien to the dark-haired god as he finally got to his feet. Thor stood beside him, scanning the tree line intently and ignoring his brother's half-delusional attempt to function normally. Loki snarled, an impatient sigh leaving his throat.

"Where are we?" Loki growled.

"I have told you already, we are here to retrieve the Captain," Thor snapped in reply.

Nothing moved in the trees, and certainly nothing that looked like a human. Just standing there was beginning to make Loki nauseous again, and the air was so thick that moving seemed all too difficult, especially in his long Asgardian attire. For once he actually envied the humans and their skin-bearing clothing. He looked around the marshy clearing they had landed in, noting that the water pooled around them so that it appeared they were on an island, meaning they would have to trudge through stagnant water to get past the trees. Excellent. He couldn't wait to get completely soaked with filthy bog water.

"I will search in this direction," Thor pointed ahead. "You, search over there," he motioned to the trees behind him.

"Fine, but I don't know where one would keep a prisoner on such a revolting piece of land," the lean god hissed. He trudged forward, yanking his feet from the sucking mud an wading into the filmy water. It smelled terrible and he could feel the water seeping through his boots, but he kept on, determined to get to the trees and out of the mess. More importantly, away from his brother. A few more steps in the muck and Loki was back on muddy land, his bottom half sporting a fresh layer of slime and soaking wet. He shivered even in the hot air as he weaved between mangled tree trunks, eager to distance himself from Thor. No horseman would even think about bringing a prisoner here, Asgard was home to eight-legged equines that would shy at the very sight of such terrain. Besides, there was no stable ground to hold a foundation for any type of building, so unless Steve Rogers was tied to a tree somewhere there was no place to keep him. Even so, Loki found himself searching for the poor soul, if only to get back to S.H.I.E.L.D faster to get a new set of clothes.

A few minutes in and the god considered attempting to teleport away, but the very thought of it made his stomach churn in disapproval. So he continued trudging through the dross, listening to the sound of the wildlife and trying his best to ignore the disgusting sounds the earth made as he walked on it. He saw a few strange earthy creatures wallowing in the pools but decided they were not worth taking extra steps out of his way to examine. Midgard was a strange realm indeed.

Suddenly he heard a guttural whack to his right. He turned slowly, expecting to meet the eyes of a wildcat or a dragon. Nothing. He took a step toward the sound, scanning for movement. There was a long scraping sound, then another whack. Loki's lips twitched in anticipation as he started forward into the foliage. The scraping sound again. Whump. It was close, and he could see the ferns quivering from whatever was making the noises. He noticed with a painful realization that he had no weapon to defend himself. Magic would have to do. He extended a hand and carefully pulled back a clump of ferns. In the distance he saw a pair of hands handcuffed around a tree trunk. Loki hurried forward, checking the surrounding forest for any sign of the horseman and was delighted to find none. The scraping sound started up again and it came from the cuffs sliding against the tree trunk. Once the hands lifted almost to the height they would be in a standing position, they fell, creating the whacking sound.

Loki felt a rush of excitement as he neared the tree. Thor was right, if he brought back the Captain, his slate would be clean. If he brought the Captain back all by himself…S.H.I.E.L.D would have no choice but to allow him to be a true part of the Avengers. He would get his power. Maybe being a "good guy" wouldn't be so bad after all. He rounded the tree, inhaling sharply at the sight of Steve. Blood trickled from the soldier's mouth and his outfit had was littered with tears, most of which were bleeding from underneath, creating dark maroon splatters on the royal blue fabric. His head lolled to one side, his blue eyes dazed. With a flick of his fingers Loki cut the cuffs binding Steve's hands. The Captain slumped forward, nearly slamming to the dirt before Loki caught him.

"I suppose there are creatures with hearts more evil than my own, aren't there, Captain?" the god chuckled, hoisting Steve over his shoulder in one swift movement. Rogers grumbled an incoherent reply as Loki started back through the ferns.

"Ah, Loki Laufeyson," a melodic voice drifted through the trees, sending a chill up his spine.

"Who speaks?" he snapped into the growing evening shadows.

"Son of a Frost Giant, raised Asgardian. The God of Mischief, yet his whole life was a lie." A woman stepped from the trees in front of him, dressed in a shimmering gown so white his eyes burned for a heartbeat. A waterfall of blond waving hair fell past her shoulders, held in place by a shining diamond crown. She blinked softly at the sight of him, stepping gracefully through the marsh and somehow managing to get nothing on her gown as she did so. She reached out a delicate hand, but before she could touch him he jumped back, nearly falling into the slop at his feet.

"You are a horseman," Loki seethed.

"Horsewoman, you mean? Yes, Loki, I am," she laughed as though he had told her an amusing joke, "Your skills in perception are far greater than your friends, young Jotunn."

His eyes narrowed and he took another step away from her. Steve wasn't heavy on his shoulder, but the extra weight made him sink deeper into the mud, restricting his movement to a dangerous low. Should the horsewoman try and attack him he would be much too sluggish to avoid her touch. With a reluctant movement he shifted the Captain to the ground and frowned as Steve flopped onto his back, unable to keep his body upright. He needed a healer, but Loki had to conserve his powers for the horsewoman. He stood to face her and saw a dark glint in her eyes. She lifted the silver bow at her side and he watched as an arrow appeared in the quiver.

The silver arrow left the bow and rocketed toward Loki before he had a chance to tense. He lifted his palms, deflecting the arrow with a lightning-fast force field conjuration. The bolt stopped just inches from his nose before falling harmlessly into the marsh. He conjured a ball of energy at his fingertips and shot it at Conquest, who dodged it with a graceful sidestep, responding by shooting two more arrows. This time the god was prepared and sent the arrows flying back at her. They hit close, ruffling her hair as they wooshed by before slamming into the tree behind her.

"My, you are quite the fighter!" Conquest purred.

"You certainly aren't," Loki sneered in reply, shooting another blast of energy at her. She dodged, but not before the beam singed the edge of her torso. She hissed in pain and glanced at her wound. He shot another energy wave while she was distracted and it hit dead on, sending her flying into the trees. She hit a trunk with a loud crack and crumpled into the ferns. A wicked smile spread across Loki's lips. Not only was he going to rescue the Captain, but he had also killed Conquest. The skies darkened above, not from night but from thunderclouds. With a flash of lightning Thor appeared beside him, panting and streaked with mud. He looked around, noticing Steve as well as Conquest. A bright smile lit up his bearded face.

"It appears you did not need my assistance after all!" He gave a deep chuckle.

Loki grinned, pride filling his chest. His heart was pounding, still charged from the thrill of battle. It was a wonderful feeling, especially because he knew his brother approved of his actions. He moved to Steve's side and bent to pick up the injured Captain. The blonde-haired soldier looked up at him and to Loki's surprise his eyes widened, his pupils pricking with surprise. He tried to open his mouth, but ended up coughing up crimson instead. Thor put a hand on Loki's shoulder.

"He will be fine, just as you will," the demigod murmured.

Loki opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about, then he felt as though someone landed on top of him. His chest folded in on itself as he doubled over, lifting a hand to his breast. A shimmering silver arrowhead stuck through the fabric of his outfit, glowing in the soft light. He sputtered, trying to make words that wouldn't form as he fell to his knees. Thor guided him to the ground, swiveling in front of him and tipping his chin up. Loki's throat burned as he gasped at his brother's eyes, now completely white. A crushing wave of hurt rolled through him, crippling his instinctual reaction to teleport away. He knew he did not have the strength anyway. Each breath grew more painful than the last and it occurred to him that he might die in this very spot, in the middle of a rancid Midgardian bog. He collapsed forward into the arms of the monster that carried his brother's appearance. His attempts to pull away were futile, his body was too focused on trying to understand why his lungs were no longer working properly.

"Shh," a gentle voice echoed in his head, "As your brother told you, you will be fine." Conquest. Loki closed his eyes, trying to drown out her voice with the sound of his own rasping breaths and the slow thud of his brother's heart, or, what used to be his brother's heart. It was no use; she seemed to be speaking into his mind.

"I knew you were smarter than the others, Loki. You can't nearly wipe out all seven of the Avengers single handedly and be stupid. And being the God of Mischief, you wouldn't fall for a pretty girl like the Captain. Your brother was easy too, leaving my horse for him to see was all it took," he heard her footsteps as she crouched at his side. "Of course, just touching my horse doesn't give me power over anyone, but if my lovely steed draws blood…well, that is a different story entirely." He winced as she grazed her fingers on his neck. The pain evaporated, but he could still hear his hoarse breathing and knew she had simply numbed him and that he was still dying. He looked up, glaring at her with all the hatred he could muster. She smiled slightly and moved away from him to the fallen Captain.

"You were different, you only trust one person in the universe, the brother who still loved you through all you had done to wrong him," she placed a hand on Steve's chest and his wounds disappeared as he gasped. "Once I realized my horse had bitten your darling Thor, I hatched a little plan. I sent him back to fetch you before the rest of the Avengers realized the Captain was gone. I had him bring you to me, had him make you feel important and allowing you to think you had saved the day by killing me. You, the Frost Giant. The lesser son."

Loki struggled to stand, but stumbled face first into the muck. His heart pounded wildly with fear, confusion and anger all jumbled into one atrocious feeling he could not place. He grabbed at the arrow in his chest, but decided against pulling it out. "You," he wheezed, "Will die by my hand."

Conquest laughed melodically, carefully sitting next to him as he hopelessly attempted to lift his face from the mud, spitting venomously as he did so. "I love that about you, Loki, you never give up. Even when all hope is lost, you refuse to be quieted. I promise you, you will feel so good under my control. Your dream of conquering the Avengers will finally come true, you have my word."

He could only glare at her. She had already touched him, so what was she waiting for? He was going to turn into a mindless machine just like his brother and there was nothing he could do about it. Conquest seemed to know what he was thinking and stood up, her dress still untouched and snow white. "Thor, my love, come here please." She extended a hand, beckoning the Asgardian to her side. Thor blinked, his eyes turning blue again as he hurried to grasp her hand. She cocked her head, an evil fire in her eyes. She blinked and suddenly Thor gasped, his eyes widening. He looked around like a frightened animal until he saw Loki on the ground. His face contorted with pain as he undoubtedly noticed the silver fletching sticking out from his brother's backside.

"Loki!" Thor jumped forward, landing on his knees and leaning over his brother to examine the arrow. Loki looked at Conquest and she nodded slowly. She had lifted her power over his brother, just so Loki could watch as he selflessly tried to help, doing everything Loki would not if the situation had been reversed. "I have seen wounds far worse than this that have healed, brother," Thor tried to comfort him, gingerly touching the arrow. Conquest lifted her bow once more, and three arrows appeared in her quiver. Loki's eyes widened, "NO!"

All three arrows buried themselves into Thor's back without a sound. The Asgardian faltered and his mouth opened in shock. He tried to turn, but his body jerked unnaturally. He hiccupped for air that was not reaching him, his hands splaying out in front of him before he collapsed onto his side. His sky-blue eyes were dazed as he landed facing his brother. Loki's eyes stung with burning tears and a mournful sound bubbled up from deep inside him as he watched his brother go still.

Conquest slithered forward and touched the golden-haired god again and the arrows disappeared. Thor jerked to life once more, eye bulging with pain as he did so. She flicked her fingers and three more arrows appeared in her hands. "Don't fret, he won't die unless I want him to. I can do this all day. I can make him hate you, love you, if I want I can make it so he doesn't even know who you are," she flashed a pearly smile, then frowned as though she had only just noticed the look of pure despair on Loki's face. "Don't look so upset, is this not what you wanted? To kill your brother?"

The dark-haired god gurgled in response, and the coppery taste of blood began to fill his mouth. Worse was the fact that she was right, at one point in time he had wanted to kill his brother. He had wanted to kill his brother, not someone else, and certainly not her. But that was a long time ago, before his imprisonment in Asgard. What should have been a sentence of darkness and cold was instead filled with purpose. Thor had allowed him to walk amongst the Asgardian people, and regain at least some of his honor there. If his brother had not been so trusting, there would be no doubt that Loki would still be craving a crown. Now, he watched as Conquest lifted his brother to his knees by the hair, the same brother that had saved him. Except Loki was powerless to return the favor. Thor growled in rage, his brow creased with pain. Mud was plastered on his face, his blue eyes almost glowing in contrast as he tried to tear away.

"Run, brother," Thor managed, "Go back and tell the others—" His back arched in pain and his eyes turned solid white as Conquest threw him back to the ground.

"I've had enough sentimentality today," she said with annoyance. "In fact, I think I'm finished with it altogether. It's time we visited my brother and got things moving." She started for the trees and Steve and Thor stood abruptly, moving after her in nearly identical fashion.

Conquest stopped and sighed loudly before turning back to Loki. With a disgruntled huff she walked over to him and crouched, touching the spot where the arrow still stuck from his flesh. The bolt vanished, he felt his wounds disappear and his breathing return to normal. She brushed a swath of his inky black hair from his face, staring intently into his red-rimmed eyes. "Stand up, my love," she spoke to him like he was a newborn foal trying to get to its feet for the first time, "Stand up, Loki." And so he did. He fell in step beside his brother though he had no control of his actions and was forced to watch the world begin to crumble around them. He would find a way to escape this enslavement. And somewhere inside Thor's mind, he was trying to escape too, and Loki realized in that moment that for the first time since they were children, they were both fighting for the same cause, with no tricks, no deception, purely together in their efforts to be freed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance. :)

****

Clint sat in his perch, his arms crossed and propped on the low safety railing as he looked out at the communications room. Nick had built it especially for him, as the communications room was the loftiest space besides the warehouses, and Nick had correctly assumed that Clint would rather watch people than boxes. Heights had always been a comfort to him, he didn't really know why. Probably because when he was little going up high was the only place he could escape the people who tormented him. A fear of heights seemed to be ingrained in human nature, but Clint had the opposite. Actually, being on low ground for too long made him nervous, if he didn't have someplace to go that was up high he would probably go crazy.

The agents working below him didn't notice his presence, they continued working an scrambling around to get supplies to the construction crews that were surveying the damage Thor and Loki had left behind. The archer shifted, flexing his fingers to hear the creaking of his leather gloves. His bow sat next to him and he had his arrows strapped to his back. Not his usual setup, but he felt a strange sense of unease. Something about the way Thor had reacted to him made him suspect something was very wrong. The god hadn't shown up again but Clint still couldn't shake the feeling. He couldn't wait until the horsemen were dead and all of this was behind them.

He heard a tiny creak from the rafters. To anyone else it would just sound like a normal building noise. Which was exactly why normal people weren't covert operatives.

"It's been almost an hour," he said into the space in front of him.

"Sorry, I had to sort some things out," Natasha replied, slipping into the space next to him. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, trying to place what exactly she had been up to. Her expression was normal; all traces of the briefing were gone. Her hair looked different too and when she moved to dangle her legs over the side he smelled shampoo.

"You going to be okay?" he asked with concern.

"Oh, yeah. Like I said, I had to sort some things out." She looked down at the people below and avoided his gaze.

"You had me scared for a minute there," Clint smiled lightly.

"I'm sorry. I think I was just in shock, War's power hadn't worn off yet or—"

"You don't have to apologize, Nat," he cut her off. "I thought I was going to have to retrain you to control your facial expressions," he joked gently. She elbowed him hard in the ribs and he grimaced away.

"You too, I thought you were going to go on a table-flipping rampage," she smirked.

"Nah, not my style," he replied with a short laugh.

They sat in silence for a few moments, busying themselves at pretending that the briefing had never happened, that the horsemen had never happened. Clint's eyes kept drifting to her hand and Natasha noticed, covering it by crossing her arms.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"No. It doesn't hurt." Her voice was flat and she kept her gaze ahead.

In a moment of sheer stupidity he reached out and gently grasped her wrist. He expected to be smacked in the face, or to receive another elbow to the ribcage, but Natasha did not do either of those things. Instead, she let him take her hand in his. He lifted it closer and examined the strange burn mark on her skin. It was a soft pink scar, healed but permanent. He had plenty of them littered across his own body, various nicks and cuts from malfunctioning weapons and enemy fire. Natasha's wound seemed worse than the usual; it was so visible that he feared it would be a constant reminder to her as to what had caused it. He had no idea what was running through her mind when she looked at it, but it was probably much more painful than remembering a bullet zipping past or a piece of shrapnel piercing the skin.

"What did he do to you that affected you so much?" Clint asked gently as he glanced up at her.

"He didn't  _do_  anything. It was that he knew everything about me. It wasn't like Loki; he didn't just have your side of the story. He knew everything, even the things I've never told anyone. Things I forgot I knew." Her eyes were distant as she spoke and her hand tensed but she did not pull away.

"You'll remember it every time you see it, won't you?"

"I've got bad memories with every scar, Clint," she returned, locking eyes with him. He swallowed with a slight nod of his head.

"I know."

"If you know, stop treating me like a child," Natasha's voice lowered as she spoke.

Clint shook his head. "Don't start with that." She always reverted back to her defensive side with him when she was uncomfortable. Her eyes flicked back to the floor below. He almost thought she was going to yank her hand away, but instead his eyes widened in surprise as she interlaced her fingers in his. Her grip tightened and he saw her blink he beginnings of tears away.

"Hey, Tash, I'm here." He knew better than to tell her it was okay when they both knew it wasn't.

"I told myself I wasn't going to come up here." Her gaze was still locked on the ground. "Just because you knew I would."

"I  _do_  know you better than anyone else here."

"And that makes you a liability." His lips twitched, but he managed to keep himself from wincing at her words.

"A liability." He ran the word along his tongue.

She finally looked at him with a half smile on her face. It vanished when she noticed the hurt in his eyes that he was trying so hard to conceal.

"Clint, that's not what I—"

"No, I understand," he flashed a weak smile. "But I'm your friend too, right? Not just a liability?"

Her lips parted, but she couldn't seem to find words.

"Damn it, Natasha." He didn't conceal the pain in his voice this time. She squeezed his hand tighter and he swallowed. They locked eyes again and he was suddenly conscious of how close she was to him, as he sometimes did when they were acting as a couple out in the field. The way her breath was just close enough to tickle his neck. Or the way her hair became curlier just behind her ear. She moved closer, lips still parted. He realized she was going to kiss him. Part of him was waiting for it, craving it even, but another side of him knew that she was just overwhelmed and that it was not real. Their noses touched and he found himself pulling away.

"Sorry, Nat," he breathed. She exhaled as she shut her eyes and pressed herself against him. He lifted his chin as she settled into the crook of his neck, saying nothing and allowing the silence to fill the little space between them. He pressed his lips to the crown of her head, then leaned away, ending the embrace. He couldn't handle her getting this close to him when she didn't mean it. Her eyes were clouded with hurt as she looked up at him. He offered a smile and lifted her scarred hand to his lips. The kiss was quick, just as he wanted it to be. He only caught the tiniest taste of her skin, though it was enough to send his heart thrumming in his chest.

"Now you'll have a good memory for this one," he said gently. "Assuming—"

Her fist connected with his jaw, sending him reeling backward onto the steel floor of his lookout post. He brought a finger to his mouth and drew I away dripping in blood. He had bitten his tongue and it was bleeding heavily.

"What the hell was that—" He rolled before he could finish as he avoided being stabbed by a dagger. His instincts kicked in, throwing his brain into attack mode and catching her arm. Natasha was an excellent shot and a great fighter, but she was still no match for his brute strength in a fight. She was incredibly strong for a woman, but certainly not stronger than him. She launched her leg back as he pinned her to his chest and he grunted in pain. His grey eyes were scanning the surroundings, trying to find something that would hold her down so he could figure out what had set her off. She thrashed around in his arms and he made sure to keep her teeth away from his skin. He still had scars from last time.

She tore an arm free and promptly elbowed him in the ribs. She did that a lot, but not with that kind of force. The air rushed from his lungs and he instinctively grabbed the wound. Natasha plucked an arrow from one of the platforms he had set up and came at him again, using the arrow as a spear. He knew he would not have time to dodge it so he caught her wrist in his hand. She seemed to be expecting it and kicked him in the kneecap, sending a burst of pain up his leg. Clint staggered and tried to catch his breath as he twisted her arm. Natasha hissed in pain and dropped the arrow. Her free hand swooped in and he caught the glint of her dagger gliding through the air. It was too late. He felt the metal bury itself into his hip as he tried to knock her hand away.

"God damn!" he snarled, looking down. The knife was small and it hadn't hit anything serious. Well, he hoped not. The archer lunged forward, crushing Natasha against the wall. As he pulled back he kept his forearm jammed against her windpipe, gritting his teeth as she struggled against him. He brought a hand to his ear, "Tony, I need some help up here." He waited for a response but the billionaire didn't reply. "Tony," he grunted as Natasha kicked him again, "Stop what you're doing and get up here, something's going on."

Clint's brow furrowed as he stared into the Black Widow's green eyes. A wide smile spread across her lips. "What is wrong with you?" he demanded. Natasha said nothing as he eyes began to fill with red. For a brief moment he thought it was blood, but he saw swirling shapes in the crimson color that were not natural. Scenes of battles played in the dark shades of red and danced across her eyes. His nostrils flared at the sights of so many depictions of massacres, death and destruction. It could only be from War. He swallowed, and put his free hand to his ear once more. "Tony…" his voice trailed. Natasha blinked and her eyes returned their usual green, though a smirk was still plastered on her face.

"Clint," JARVIS's voice sounded into his mic, "I have overridden my protocols to inform you that—" the robot's voice was cut off by a hellish roar and the sound cut out. He looked to Natasha, who laughed, bearing a startling resemblance to Loki in the way she seemed not to care. He snarled back at her, but did not move. He had to pin her down and get to Tony before his worst fears were confirmed. If Tony was compromised, or worse, that left him, alone to face a band of superheroes, gods, and two horsemen who had managed to successfully destroy the very foundation of the Avengers. The odds were stacked against him higher than any skyscraper in New York.

* * *

Tony shrugged as he motioned to the pile of fried lab equipment before him. "Like I said, I've tried everything. Ice, heat, electricity, proton displacement, ionization, everything. No dice."

Bruce frowned, twirling his glasses in his fingers. "No changes at all?"

"Nope. I don't even know what it is, let alone how to get any closer to curing it." He plucked a wrench from his desk and rolled it closed. It buckled, leaving a gap big enough to stick a finger through, he cursed under his breath and threw it in the pile. He looked back to Bruce. "Hey, you sure you're okay?"

The scientist chuckled. "Well, besides the fact that I'm covered in gauze and plaster, yes, I'm doing okay."

"I'm the smartass around here, Toilet Paper," Tony retorted with a smirk. He walked over to the monitors and pulled out his phone, spreading his past experiments across the screen. Bruce looked around and caught glimpses of each one.

"You never sent me that information about that rock you used on Loki. Have you tried that again?"

Tony felt a lick of guilt for that one. "Er—yeah. Here, let me pull it up." A video of the glowing red stone appeared on the largest monitor, showing him dropping the stone onto the horseman's cloak. The stone's light intensified, but the meters behind it still showed steady levels of energy radiation.

"Interesting. I wonder why it lights up like that."

"I guess I just rubbed off on it," Tony joked. Bruce rolled his eyes then stepped closer, squinting at the screen. "See something?"

"Yeah, here, let me see that," he reached for Tony's phone. Tony ran his tongue along his teeth as he began to take a second look at the video and handed over the phone without comment. He could see Bruce's expression change to confusion as he looked down at the phone.

"How do you slow it down?"

The question jerked him from the screen and he leaned over, tapping Bruce's hand away. To his surprise, Bruce jumped back and the phone clattered to the floor.

"Whoa, hey there," said Tony, cocking an eyebrow.

"That hurt!" Bruce growled, clutching his hand.

"What? I barely even touched you!" the billionaire protested. It was true, he had done nothing more than graze the skin.

"Augh, it's—it's  _burning_!" He saw the chords of Bruce's neck begin to stick out as the scientist gritted his teeth.

"Jarvis, get this man some ice, please," Tony's voice was level as he stepped back. Bruce seethed in pain, and a greenish tinge began to cover his skin. "Shit, J, hurry!" He looked back to his friend. "Bruce, you gotta calm down. You're not burning, nothing's burning, you're fine, got it?"

"IT'S ON FIRE!" Bruce roared. Tony felt the back of his leg hit the side of his desk. Very slowly he felt along the edge for a tiny button and pressed it. He immediately looked to his phone as JARVIS began to type a message. He released a river of curses as his robotic assistant indicated that the suit needed more blaster repairs than originally expected and that it was not in functional condition. Banner began to morph and the room filled with the noises of his human form growing into a giant green monster. Tony swallowed, shoving his way backward and sending a box full of equipment to the floor. The Hulk turned to face him, breathing in heavy snorts that made Tony's blood chill. Without his suit he was no better off than Natasha had been in the helicarrier, except for the fact that he wasn't a dangerous superspy trained to sneak away from such encounters. So basically he was screwed.

"Hey, you've got the Big Guy under control, right? It's me, it's Tony." The Hulk glared at him, shaking free of the shredded bandages as casts that now littered the floor of his lab. All of Bruce's injuries had vanished except for the long slashes across his back and shoulders, as Tony saw in the window's reflection. It reminded him of what it might feel like to be in a room with a fighting bull injected with tiger blood. It was very obvious that talking was not going to get him out of this one, and neither was his suit.

"Tony, I need some help up here," both man and beast looked up at the sound of Clint's ragged voice. Tony did not dare make a sound as he pressed himself flat against the wall, feeling for something that could protect him.

"Tony," there was a muffled thump on Clint's end of the line, "Stop what you're doing and get up here, something's going on."

Massive understatement. Tony's jaw clenched as the Hulk turned back to face him, snarling with a mouth full of greenish teeth. His eyes turned bright red and Tony realized why Bruce had not been able to talk himself out of, well, hulking out. War had somehow gotten ahold of him. The scar.  _Clever bastard!_ Tony thought. Both scars were in places that someone was bound to touch; an accidental brush of the hand would trigger his true power. Tony had to admit that the horsemen had quite the strategy. Now he was going to pay for it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he felt himself flying across the room and slamming face-first into the plexiglass window so hard a crack formed. He rolled off of the glass and onto the floor, coughing and choking on his own blood. His head was spinning and suddenly his vision was filled with green as the Hulk picked him off the ground like a child's toy. He felt his face begin to swell and throb as he stared at the monster that had taken over his friend.

He was released, and dropped about six feet to the floor, landing on a piece of machinery on his shoulder. He groaned in pain and began to fumble around for his phone that he had dropped nearby. A fuzzy voice cut through the haze of his dimmed senses that sounded like Clint. He waited for an arrow to bury itself into the massive green man, but realized it was probably just Hawk trying to reach him over the radio again. He spat a thick mess of blood onto the floor, waiting for the life-ending strike that was sure to come.

All he could think about was how pathetic it was. How pathetic he was. Yeah, he had taken out Famine, but now it was obvious Famine had only come there to be killed. The guy didn't even talk when he had been blasting his face off. Yet he had come back with a prideful smirk on his face and acted like he didn't need to go out on another mission. He had acted like a jerk, which wasn't really a problem except when it concerned Steve. The last words he had said, he had called him an asshole. When Clint made it sound like Rogers had gone off the deep end, he had already felt the guilt in his heart. All he had wanted to do was buy the guy a drink, the typical wordless Stark apology. Steve knew what it was. Instead he was the one who was going to die and leave the damned Man With A Plan to remember those last words. He half hoped that Nick wouldn't give the team a "he died a hero" speech because everyone would know that wasn't true. And Bruce! Holy shit, how would he deal with knowing he killed him? Well, it was because of the Horsemen, and he probably wouldn't remember his Hulk experience, but he would figure it out. Once again, Tony Stark ruins the day.

Suddenly Bruce's face was right in front of him. He summoned a weak smile, but he couldn't feel his lips to tell if it had worked.

"Hey…you're back," he struggled to form the words.

"I couldn't have you think the Hulk would want you dead, that would be too believable." Tony's blood froze at Bruce's words. A disgusting smile crept across the scientist's face, and his eyes flashed red for a split second. "I'm not controlling your monstrous friend, Tony," Stark snorted in disagreement, causing a dribble of blood to fall from his lips. "I'm merely acting on thoughts he already had."

"The…scars….that was a," he hiccupped for air, "Nice move."

Bruce chuckled. "Oh, you don't know the half of it. I searched him, Bruce, for the person he cared about most. I must say I was surprised to find that it was  _you_ , but I suppose that's because he has no other options. Natasha was easy, she had Clint running through her brain the second she walked within my range."

"I hate you," Tony stated simply, forcing himself to stay conscious. "A lot."

"When I found out who your little teammates were fond of, I gave them their burns. I could have made it so any touch would set them off, but that didn't seem good enough to me. I gotta make a punch, you know?"

It was strange seeing Bruce possessed, his face was completely different from the calm, awkward expression that he usually found there. Now it was dark and twisted, his brown eyes were filled with hatred.

"Mmmkay. I guess that snappy mouth of yours finally shut up. Just like Daddy always wanted."

The words made his stomach knot. He felt the anger rise from his gut and pool into his mouth that wouldn't work. He struggled to curse, to make up some insult worthy of spewing at him. It didn't matter, his tongue wouldn't cooperate. Bruce's lips curled into a wicked smile.

"Easy now, you won't feel a thing. Actually, I don't know, I don't have one of these," he tore open the front of Tony's shirt, revealing the glowing arc reactor underneath. The billionaire inhaled sharply, fear filling his eyes. Bruce chuckled lightly, and fastened his War-possessed fingers around the circle and yanked it out. Tony felt the wires rip from his chest and watched as his life was literally taken out of him.

****


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki feelings, Science Bros, Clintasha.  
> And War, because he is a boss.

Tony's vision began to dim out as he stared at his arc reactor in Bruce's hands. He was going to sit there on the floor and wait for the shrapnel to dig in one final time. It would finally bury into his heart and give him a few more minutes of blinding pain while the remnants of oxygen in his blood kept him alive to feel every last shuddering beat. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, his chest always hurt, ever since Yensen jammed an engine in his heart powered by a car battery. He had altered the designs, obviously, and created the most efficient machine possible to drive the shards of metal in his chest away. That didn't mean it didn't hurt when he twisted the wrong way or when he slept on his stomach. It was almost liberating to see the glowing blue curse outside of his body.

Then he noticed the look on Bruce's face. The darkness was gone, his eyes back to their usual muddy brown, wide and blinking in shock. His mouth opened as he looked to the arc reactor in his hands, his face going pale.

"T-Tony?"

"Hey…Jolly…" Tony wheezed, unable to even finish the nickname as he began to feel his chest tighten.

"Oh god, I did this, didn't I?" Bruce looked around, frantically searching Tony's crumpled form. The billionaire began to fade, a small smile on his face. "Tony, what do I do? How do I put it back in?" the scientist's voice started to distort in his ears. He forced his eyes open one last time and used the last of his strength to grab Bruce's arm.

"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure if the words actually left his lips as the pain in his chest escalated to a new high. Sorry. Sorry Bruce. I'm sorry.

* * *

A parched dusty trail cracked through the barren landscape in strange curls and twists, weaving between burnt trees and boulders; quite unlike the modern roadways that blasted through mountains and chopped down the plant life. The plains were usually golden yellow and brown with the occasional lone tree watching over the land, littered with wildflowers and honeybees. It was a place of life, or, it had once been.

Now all that was visible of that life was the trails. Deer trails in the blackened woods and horse trails covering the country. The rest was ash that was covered by a thick layer of grey smog that hugged the ground. Fire had scarred the land after a careless group of campers had not properly extinguished their campfire. Exactly what the giant sign along the road had told them not to do. They had even put a threatening grizzly bear on it to drive their point home. It was so wonderful how chaos worked that way.

The earth still smoked in the absence of the flames, and the skeletons of fences and trees still hissed with heat. A lone stallion stood among the darkness, its rich crimson coat glowing like an ember in the sea of grey.

The horse's black eyes were calm as it lazily shifted its weight and occasionally stretched its neck and shook its head. War hummed to himself as he sat atop his steed as though he were in a pleasant meadow, not a scorched field devoid of life. His head bobbed slightly to the tune, blue eyes scanning the horizon.

"Well, this is interesting," he said to no one. The stallion jerked beneath him and lashed its tail with impatience. Suddenly Conquest appeared before the horseman, enveloped in a swirling mass of gold and green. Loki. A smile spread on his lips as the Jotunn prince appeared on bended knee, flanked by his brother and America's hero. Loki's eyes glowed bright white as he stood.

"Impressive," War commended his sister. "I didn't think you'd get all three."

"You underestimate my skills." Conquest greeted him with a smile. Her horse nickered softly, unnerved by the presence of another horsemen. The horsemen were a dysfunctional family, occasionally working together but always competing for the prize of victory and favor. Their horses reflected their true feelings about one another; each had their fair share of healed scars beneath their coats from battles past.

"So, no problems? Even with the Frost Giant?  _Very_  impressive." He let out a low whistle and slipped off of his horse before stepping closer to examine the three trophies in front of him.

"And what of your plans?" Conquest asked, watching as he placed a hand on Loki's chin and tipped the prince's head side to side as though he were an animal being inspected for sale.

"Everything is falling into place quite nicely," War replied, his eyes flashing completely red for a moment.

"Everything?"

"It's almost pathetic how easy it is to get under their skin. Surely you've figured that out by now," he returned, eyes turning blue one more.

"Of course," Conquest said with narrowed eyes.

War nodded to himself, prodding Steve in the chest. The soldier stood stock-still and his eyes stared straight ahead. Complete control. He turned to Thor next, eyeing the warhammer at his side.

"Look at you, wielding Mjolnir," he chuckled.

"An added bonus," Conquest agreed. War stepped away from the Asgardian to take another look at Loki. He was the true prize, the perfect pawn. Everyone already assumed him to be evil, so they would not be surprised when he began to carry out their duties.

"Mind if I pay him a visit before we get started?" the horsemen asked. Purely out of courtesy of course, he did not need permission to go about delving in the minds of any prisoners. Conquest gave a slight nod, bobbing her diamond crown. War pressed a hand to Loki's forehead and his eyes burned crimson.

* * *

The throne room in Asgard was in ruin. The spiraling columns that had once stood as proud beacons were toppled and crushed. The polished stone floors cracked and broken. In some places debris piled high enough that War was unable to see beyond it, yet the room had retained its cavernous atmosphere with the high arched ceilings that now had deep grooves veining out like rivers above him. It was dark and cold, every fireplace and torch burned out, casting an eerie blue light across the battered floor.

The throne remained intact. He knew it would still be there, as this was Loki's mind. War carefully picked his way toward the ravenous prince where he had draped himself across the throne, resting his head on one of the golden armrests. He was staring blankly ahead, but War knew he had heard his arrival, his  _intrusion,_  into his head.

"Even in my dreams I cannot lift it," Loki's voice travelled to his ears. The Jotunn snapped his wrist toward Mjolnir, tipped on its side on the approaching stairs.

"This is not a dream, Frost Giant," War said slowly. "This is the place of your innermost desires. I must say, you have quite a dreary outlook on things from the looks of it. " He sidestepped the hammer and took a few paces forward before stopping.

Loki looked to him with tired eyes, the mischievous glint now wiped away to reveal nothingness.

"Where is he?" the horseman asked, cocking his head slightly. "Thor, where is he?"

The Jotunn looked away and the moon cast a white glow on his horned helmet. War's lips spread into a smile.

"I know he is around here somewhere. This place reeks of blood and rage."

Loki's eyes flashed a vibrant orange, flecked with the color of rust. The eyes of his true heritage. His lips curled into a sneer and he sat up abruptly.

"He is buried beneath the rubble," the Trickster seethed. "Crushed beneath his precious kingdom."

War chuckled, pivoting on his heel to look at the closest pile. Maroon liquid oozed from the spaces of the rocks like a decorative fountain of blood. The sight of it made him smile, he was almost getting jealous of the prince's imagination. "This is your fantasy? To destroy Asgard and take your throne as king? Alone?" he turned around to find Loki standing right in front of him, eyes wild. "To turn your brother into a bloody mess on the floor?"

"He is not my brother!" Loki spat venomously.

"Oh, right. My mistake," War smirked. "Anyway, I came to express my admiration of you, Loki Laufeyson. " The prince's eyes narrowed, but War held his gaze with truth. "You are  _incredible_  in your antics, and it's obvious that you still want the throne," he motioned to the destruction around them, "I don't think I've seen anyone with more, oh, what was it that Coulson said, ah, yes,  _conviction_  than you."

Loki snarled as he leaned in closer, "I am God of Mischief and Deception, I can see when you are attempting to fool me."

"Sorry, Frost Giant, but you are not a god. Just a powerful alien muddling around on our planet. Unlike the humans, we can destroy you. I bet Thor still feels hunger pangs from his little incident with my brother. Well, the real Thor," he flicked a glance back at the bleeding rubble.

"You come here with flattery and now you insult me?"

"I came here to let you know that I, we, are fans of your work and of your ambition." He rested a hand on Loki's shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he stared straight into the Jotunn's burning eyes."We…are proud of you. I am proud of you."

He saw Loki's throat clench and watched the sensation travel to his eyes as they turned back to their rich emerald green. The prince stumbled backward and nearly fell down the stairs, the look of shock still spread across his face. War kept himself from smiling as he lowered a hand, gripping the handle of Mjolnir and lifting it up as effortlessly as if it were nothing more than a stick. He held it out to Loki.

"Take it," he whispered. "Fulfill this dream"

Loki blinked, staring at the hammer like it was a lost piece of himself. It probably was, in a way. The poor sap had to go through his whole life watching his brother wield the ultimate weapon while he got nothing more than spells and a bag of tricks. It wasn't the real Mjolnir of course, but that didn't matter as Loki extended a ghostly hand, slowly nearing the handle. His fingers touched the leather and then he lunged for it, yanking it away from War with wide eyes. The horseman's lips twitched as he watched Loki's expression.

"I will see you soon, Your Highness," he offered a polite bow, concealing the wicked smile on his lips before vanishing, leaving Loki alone with the hammer clasped in his hands and the blood of his brother pooling on the floor behind him.

* * *

A fire exploded in his chest and Tony was thrown back into the world with a massive gasp. His entire body hurt like hell, with the epicenter right above his heart. He could only see white light in front of his face as he struggled to grasp just what was going on. Because if this was heaven, it sucked. A click sounded below him and he heard a rush of air as the pain began to ebb away. Slowly, but he could feel the life coming back to him. An annoying low buzz started to sound in his ears and he tried to blink it away. Then he realized the buzz was talking to him.

"Tony? Are you there? Can you hear me?" Bruce. His vision snapped back to normal and he found himself face to face with the man who nearly killed him. Tony opened his mouth to say something, but started coughing instead

"What…how long was I out?" he managed between spasms.

"A day or so," Bruce answered, "I replaced the reactor after you passed out but you didn't come back. You're incredibly lucky that the shrapnel in there is magnetic."

Tony looked down at his bare chest to see two scars that hadn't been there before. "So you're a surgeon too?" Lifted a hand to feel the scar and felt a shooting pain in.

"Eh…I tried. You've still got a lot of shrapnel in there, but I managed to move some the closest pieces away from your heart enough to get you stable. "

"Well, where is everybody? You're telling me they weren't standing around worried sick that I was out?" His sarcasm returned as he shifted up onto his elbows.

"You did it."

Tony looked up with a furrowed brow. "I think you're giving me too much credit there, Broccoli."

"You found the cure, Tony," Bruce smiled. He held up a glowing blue triangle that Tony instantly recognized as the element he had created just a few years ago. He looked down at his arc reactor, but it was still whirring.

"Did you…make that yourself?" he asked, reaching out and running it between his fingers.

"Yes. Well, Jarvis helped me out, but I did it. Whatever is in here trumps the horsemen's effects."

"War's effects, you mean."

"No, Famine's cloak isn't radiating any energy after I put one of these on it."

"One of these?" Tony raised an eyebrow, "You mean you made more?"

"There's one for everyone on the team," the scientist replied with a smile."You had the cure right under your nose the whole time, literally."

That explained why Famine hadn't affected him, and why his first experiment with that stupid rock had worked. He had unconsciously been holding it to his chest, like he sometimes did when he became too focused on something else. It must have provided just enough radiation to permeate the stone and cause it to glow when it came in contact with the cloak. For the first experiment it must've had enough power distill the beam's effects. Damn.

"Natasha is still under War's…spell. I wanted to wait until you were awake to test anything on her," Bruce said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"What the hell are you waiting on me for?" he asked incredulously.

"We want to try something." Bruce pulled out a thick leather string and looped it through the glowing triangle before slipping the makeshift necklace over his head.

"Well it better be a damn good something. What are you wearing that for?"

"Just in case. We don't know if I can still trigger if I'm not wearing the necklace. I don't really want to find out."

Tony nodded, chewing his bottom lip. "I know it wasn't you."

"That doesn't change anything. I tried to kill you. I'm just lucky War wanted to use me and not the Other Guy," he swallowed, "I could have crushed your reactor to smithereens. Then you wouldn't have come back."

"But I did," he paused, not wanting to focus on any of it anymore. "Did anyone else come back?"

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, and Tony knew the answer before he opened his mouth. "No, but we know where they're going to be." Tony waited for him to say something more, but Bruce stood up and wiped off his hands on his pants. "Let's get going. Clint is getting anxious."

Tony carefully got to his feet with only a slight lick of pain in his sternum. He grabbed a shirt that was neatly folded next to the operation chair that he had hand built for just such an occasion. He slipped the shirt over his head and followed Bruce out the door.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Stark," JARVIS's voice filled the lab. Tony smiled, turning around to face the lab once more.

"Glad to hear ya, J. Nice to know you survived without me."

"It was difficult."

The billionaire's smiled widened as he backed out of the room and turned down the hall, quickening his pace to catch up with Bruce, who now held a very familiar suitcase.

"What are you doing with my suit?"

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind. That's what we're trying to test, I want to see if we can disinfect someone with a blaster."

"Jesus Bruce, we aren't married, you can't just go through my stuff like that without saying something."

"You  _were_  kind of…on the verge of death. Consider it my fee."

"Okay, except that you aren't actually a surgeon and I'm pretty sure you don't even have a proper medical license. "

"That's a very minor problem." Bruce stopped in front of a closed door and handed the suitcase to Tony. "Here."

He snatched it away and followed Bruce inside. The room was apparently an indoor shooting range that had been turned into a makeshift holding cell for Natasha. The Black Widow looked demonic as he caught sight of her. Her eyes were red like Bruce's had been, and a dried trail of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth where someone had hit her. She was breathing heavily and fighting against the nest of chains that were wrapped around every limb.

"I feel like you've done this before," Tony smirked, looking to Clint who was glaring straight ahead.

"Can it, Stark," the archer snapped. Tony shrugged and popped open the suitcase with his foot, standing spread eagle while the metal wrapped around him. It was an older model, which was probably a good thing.

"Okay Jarvis," he said as systems came online, "Did Bruce actually know what he was doing when he modified this thing?"

"I should think so, he  _did_ follow your examples from the beam you created earlier."

"Because that went well," Tony grumbled under his breath as he turned to face Natasha. "So what do you want me to do, just shoot her in the leg or something?"

"You could do it with a bit more seriousness," Clint hissed.

"Hey, I win the bad day award, Bird Brain." He raised a hand, leveling the blaster and aiming for Natasha's left thigh. JARVIS downgraded the energy levels and he released a small beam of energy.

She jerked and snarled in pain, but her eyes remained red. Clint squeezed his eyes shut and didn't say anything.

"That went well," Tony said, powering down and allowing the suit to fall off of him. Bruce pulled another triangle pendant from his pocket, though it was a much smaller necklace than the one he was wearing that went down to his stomach. The scientist stepped forward and crossed the room until he was in front of Natasha and wrangled the string around her neck as she struggled to get away. The pendant fell against her and within the same instant her eyes were back to normal and she slumped to the floor. Clint was there in a heartbeat, helping her up from the ground and assisting her out of her chains. But Natasha wasn't focused on that, or even the fresh burn on her leg, instead she was staring straight at Bruce.

"Did he tell you?" her voice was raspy.

"I don't know what you're—" Bruce started, but she cut him off.

"Answer me. Did he tell you?"

"I think I'm missing something. Clint, are you missing something? 'Cause I sure am," Tony commented, glancing back and forth between Bruce and Natasha.

"Yeah," the scientist answered finally. "I thought it was just a hallucination.

"What was a hallucination?" Tony demanded.

Natasha turned to face him, a dark look on her face. "War told us where he is. And he's ready to take us on."

"Okay, so we're just going to listen to the crazy bastard who turned you guys into zombie monsters?  _That_  sounds like a fantastic plan."

"We have to. Conquest is with him."

"Even better, now we're going to walk into a trap set by two horsemen. You guys are really on to something, you know that?"

"Tony," Bruce turned. "They have Steve, Thor, and Loki."

"I figured that much," the billionaire growled.

Bruce and Natasha shot each other a look and Tony felt a sinking feeling in his chest, and it wasn't from the arc reactor. The scientist swallowed and a pained look crossed his face.

"He," his voice went quiet, "He showed me. They're in a burned field."

"And?" Tony demanded after a brief pause.

"They're all going to die."

Stark froze with his mouth open to snap a snarky reply, then shut it again. He would kill these horsemen if it really was the last thing he did. He would skin those god damned horses and make a fancy throw rug for his living room so he could remember it too. They were trying to tear apart the deadliest force on the planet, maybe even the entire universe if the Chitauri were the best thing out there. The worst part was, they were getting the job done. What had started as a stupid little goose chase after a starved, half-delusional horseback rider had turned into something where any wrong move could get them killed or captured. A simple touch could send them into a murderous rage. He looked down at his arc reactor, pressing a hand to its center.

"Well, I think I've got a plan, my friends."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a heaping serving of feelings.  
> Thank you all for your kindness and feedback, it really makes my day so much better!

Conflict is a necessary part of human life. So long as there was blood, humans would always fight each other in attempt to bring it to the surface. A thin layer of skin, far weaker in comparison than other species', was all that shielded them from the elements of warfare. Yet they endured. It was not of their own doing, for the most part, the horsemen had watched for eons as they struggled against hardship and toil, slavery, and corruption. Roman gladiators, Samurais, foot soldiers, all wrapped up in their delusions of honor while they waited in the wings for their signal to charge. Each new generation created a new lie to justify their actions on the battlefield, or the plantation, or whatever issue it happened to be. Something that made it acceptable to kill, hate, and enslave.

Massacre was the only way to stop it. If another human retaliated too fiercely, the balance was thrown off and some humanity resurfaced. Fields of blood and bodies were not enough unless it was the blood and bodies of innocents. Pure blood was a stain that could not be washed away. Villages destroyed by fire or bombs were conveniently called conquests so long as the village had attempted to retaliate. If not, it was marked a with a sadistic, horrific, tragedy that would blaze through history as a beacon of what could not happen again. But it always did. It wasn't something that was ever going to be prevented, humans were naturally evil, and always would be. Even the heroes had their vices.

Tony Stark, selfish, drowning himself in alcohol, wallowing in his self-loathing that was actually just a mask for his craving for attention. Clint and Natasha, two of the same trade. Murderers and liars so caught up in "doing what was right" that they were nearly as brainwashed as the others. Bruce Banner, the genius gamma-ray scientist who blamed a lack of control from a vicious green monster to justify his destruction and murdering of countless innocent victims. A lack of control he had conveniently tossed aside when Loki arrived on Earth. Even Steve Rogers could not escape it, he had blood on his hands from seventy years ago and even a few S.H.I.E.L.D agents who had paid him a visit under the Tesseract's control. As if being controlled by outside forces allowed him to kill them in cold blood. As for the supposed "God of Thunder," Thor was perhaps more guilty than the rest. Arrogant, overconfident, and incredibly stupid. He had torn families apart even before his crowning as Prince. Loki at least recognized that he was evil, his ambitions for earth were not deluded by "goodness." And now it was time for all of them to die.

* * *

Tony landed harshly, throwing up a plume of ash. The landscape was barren and desolate and he noticed with a scowl that the only cover came in the form of ragged black trees trunks. They had certainly picked a great spot for a fight. Natasha, Clint and Bruce were on their way, but he refused to sit around in a slow-moving fighter yet while his friends, and one ex-enemy, were close to death. His metal suit rippled over his skin as JARVIS double-checked his system upgrades, including the blaster Bruce had already installed. An element necklace was wrapped around his wrist, glowing faintly in the gloom. Each of them had a mission, one Avenger to save. One necklace each. One chance.

A red horse appeared from nowhere, snorting in his face. He clenched a fist in preparation to strike, but the horse did not look hostile. Instead it nickered at him like a deranged zombie animal before rearing up and galloping away over a small rise. He knew he was supposed to follow after it, that was the only reason it would be out there without its rider. The suit was old and he was having trouble downgrading technology and mentally kicking himself for some of the things he had put in as "improvements" when he had built it. For example, his thrusters had no cruise control because he had once thought that it would be too much of a hassle to turn off and on all the time. Well, now he had to spend every second of flight adjusting and readjusting his speed and wing flaps. Brilliant work. Just brilliant.

So instead of kicking into flight mode he decided to run after the horse and use the extra time to further survey the surroundings. Everything was burnt and brittle and black. Nowhere for a bright red and gold metal suit to hide in. Not that he was ever one to hide. It was the ultimate natural arena, equipped with smoke machines, even.

He reached the top of the shallow rise but the horse was nowhere to be found. Hoofprints made blatant marks in the dust and his gaze followed them in a narrow zigzag until he spotted a bright red boot. He froze. Steve sat cross-legged in the ash, fiddling with a blackened flower, of all things. He looked calm for a guy who had gotten kidnapped by an apocalypse monster, but then again he _was_  brainwashed. Tony looked around for any signs of War or Conquest or Loki or Thor, but it was just Steve, sitting alone in the emptiness.

The suit thudded against the ground as he ran forward, clutching the necklace tightly even though he could not feel it through the metal.

"Hey, Tony!"

He skidded to a stop at Steve's happy greeting, he had been prepared for the Captain to jump up and throw a punch or toss his trash can lid right into his face. Not happiness. Not joy. He carefully stepped forward, blaster humming to life just in case.

"Hello, Steve. Where's daddy Conquest?" he asked, his voice guarded.

"Conquest?" Steve cocked his head, tossing the burned flower away. "I know this is going to sound really stupid, but I just woke up here five minutes ago. I don't know where Conquest is."

"Really? Let me guess, you don't remember anything and I have to make you fall in love with me every day for the rest of your life," Tony retorted.

"What are you talking about? I'm being serious."

"It's a movie. The girl has some thing where she can't remember anything and—" he shook his head. "Nevermind." JARVIS scanned away while they were talking, but no abnormalities showed up. Horsemen radiation was almost nonexistent. It struck Tony that this was actually the real Steve Rogers, at least, for now. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that the horsemen had actually left him. But right now, it was his old friend.

"Do you remember the last thing I said to you?" he blurted out suddenly. A lump formed in his throat that he refused to acknowledge, but he had to know.

Steve looked up at him slowly, his blue eyes glinting with something he couldn't place. "Sure. You called me an asshole."

So he remembered. It occurred to him that Steve may have been keeping tabs on last words for much longer than this one time. He had to have been doing that. Steve was still a man of war, half living in a world where forgetting to say goodbye could mean not getting the chance again.

"Yeah, well, you were being an asshole," he retorted, his pride kicking in again. "But, I shouldn't have said that. That would make me look bad if you, you know, died or something."

Steve offered a half smile. "Good thing I didn't die then, huh?"

Tony ignored the lump in his throat as he replied, "Good thing. "

The two men allowed the silence to settle between them. Tony was aware that Steve had seen the apology in his words, but he still felt guilty about it. Which was stupid, because nothing had even happened to the guy. He was just sitting there like a damn hippie in the middle of a burned out field. All he needed was a catchy anti-wildfire slogan pasted on his shield.

"Did you really think I was dead?" Steve asked suddenly. Tony grimaced behind the metal face shield, glad he had decided to keep his helmet closed.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "I did."

"You really do care about me, don't you, Tony?"

Okay, now that was ridiculous. Maybe that meant something different in the forties, but no one just went out and asked a question like that to a person. That kind of stuff was reserved for romance novels and chick-flicks. Their lives were not romance novels or chick-flicks.

"Well, I wouldn't put it that way, Ice Pop, but yeah, you're my friend," he swallowed, "A real friend. "

Steve didn't reply, he just gave a ghost of a smile and looked back down to the dirt. Tony tugged at the necklace on his wrist. "Hey, I want you to put this on, okay? " he held it out, the blue pendant swaying lightly in the air. "Take it as an apology, of whatever you wanna call it."

The Captain shook his head, still looking at the ground. "You know I can't take that, Tony."

"No, Steve, it isn't part of my arc reactor or anything. I made this and I, uh, had it laying around so I thought I'd bring it in case I found you." The lie tumbled out readily, but Steve just raised his head to look out at the desolation.

"You know I have to fight you, right?" the soldier's voice was quiet.

Tony shook his head. "No, Spangles, you don't have to fight me. Put this on and you don't have to do it," his voice faltered, "I promise."

"You're right," Steve looked up at him. "I'm not supposed to fight you,"

"There we go. Now—"

"I'm supposed to  _kill_ you, Tony." His words were hollow as they echoed through Tony's suit. The billionaire gritted his teeth as he swallowed, shutting his eyes to try and pretend that Steve hadn't said anything.

"Sir, should I activate hostile protocols?" JARVIS's voice cut into his ears. A pained look crossed his face. He took a deep breath and felt the constriction of the metal around his torso, not quite ready to open his eyes.

"Yeah," he murmured finally. He could see the light from his helmet screen change from blue to red behind the shade of his eyelids and heard the whirr of his weapons systems coming online. His chocolate eyes flew open and he saw the red outline of his target in front of him. His teammate. His friend. He wrapped the necklace around his wrist again Steve stood up, gripping his shield tightly against him. Tony thought he saw reluctance in the Captain's eyes, but the look vanished as the soldier took a few steps back.

"Let's dance," he growled somberly. But he flinched at his own words, because he knew that dancing was one thing Steve had never learned how to do.

* * *

As Bruce and Clint ran through the dusty wasteland, it was quickly becoming obvious whom they were going to be facing. Billowing storm clouds formed in the distance that flashed with lightning but released no rain. The wind kicked up, throwing dust and ash into the faces of the two men as they hurried after the white stallion that had brought them there. Clint clutched the element necklace in his hand as he looked to Bruce, who seemed more annoyed at the foul weather than anything else. A brilliant blue light illuminated the horizon as Tony shot a blast that ricocheted off Captain America's shield. The archer swallowed, knowing that in just a few moments, he would be in a fight too.

"Are you ready?" he called over the dust and wind. Bruce coughed as he nodded, covering his face with an arm as another gale of dust-filled air blew against him. The horse's white flank was still visible through the haze as another vein of lightning shot overhead. They had to be getting close.

Sure enough, the horse vanished and was replaced by two figures the Clint recognized immediately as Thor and Loki. He took a deep breath, inhaling dust, but necessary to get him focused. He slipped the bow from his backside, drawing an arrow and placing it in the quiver. Loki raised a hand and the wind halted, leaving only the fog of dust that would take a long time to settle. Thor gripped Mjolnir, a scowl on his face. It was mildly terrifying to see the look projected at him and he was glad that Bruce was at his side. The scientist seemed to read the look on his face and gave a light chuckle.

"Don't worry, Clint. I'll take him. Looks like you've got a grudge match."

The archer looked to Loki who was staring at him with burning rage. It brought a smirk to his face that he was finally going to be able to fight the god one on one, though he wasn't allowed to kill him. That was going to be difficult.

Bruce shut his eyes and grew into the Hulk before launching himself at the God of Thunder with a gut-wrenching roar. Even Bruce's famous Other Guy didn't look to be motivated, the lingering memories of their last encounter probably still ringing in his mind. Hulk's green fist slammed Thor to the ground, creating a shockwave in the burned earth. Mjolnir slammed into Bruce's chest, but not before he landed another punch across the god's face. They seemed to be evenly matched, but Clint knew that Loki was much more powerful than he when it came to...just about everything. He was a god from another planet, though not as strong as Thor he could still probably snap his neck with a finger. And he had magic.

"Quite the performance, is it not?" Loki mused, watching the epic battle as it raged on.

"Are we gonna stand here and watch or are we gonna fight?" Clint snapped in reply. "I have an arrow with your name on it."

"Hmm. You remind me of Thor. So eager to throw the first punch." Just the sound of the god's voice pissed him off.

"Save the speeches," the archer snarled.

"Why? Am I upsetting you? I do apologize, I know becoming emotionally compromised defies your protocols."

"I can assure you, I'm emotionally compromised. That's not going to stop me from destroying you."

"Oh, but it is," Loki hissed, "Your little glowing piece of metal means that you are not going to kill me at all."

Suddenly the Jotunn was right in his face, eyes blazing with cold fury. "But you want to, oh yes, you would give nothing more than to watch me die."

Clint snorted, slowly moving his hand to the holster at his hip as he spoke, "Well, you got me. You're right; I want to kill you. But I can't and I won't. Because your brother is my friend, and my teammate," he growled, "Don't flatter yourself, I would break protocol if it meant you never walked the face of the _universe_  again."

Loki's lip curled in disgust at the mention of Thor and he lunged, curling his ghostly fingers around Clint's neck. It hurt like ten stingers digging into his flesh. " _Never_  try to justify your misguided morals in my presence again," he hissed, close enough now that he could see the veins of his eyes. "You are so blind, so misshapen in your sense of what needs to be done, I would pity you if not for your idiocy."

"Blind? I'm the best marksman in the world, you ass." He pulled a knife from his pocket that glowed bright blue. Tony's idea. Since asking politely didn't seem like it would work, they had decided to create weapons with the same effect as the necklace. But since there weren't very many materials to keep recreating the Stark element, they had very low doses of radiation so most likely they would only stun, giving them the time they needed to wrangle the necklaces around their necks. Before Loki realized what was happening, Clint drove the small dagger into his arm where his armor was thinnest. The Jotunn jumped back with a hiss of pain as his eyes flicked from white to green like a little kid messing with a light switch. He didn't feel like waiting to see what happened next and tackled the god to the ground.

Well, he thought he did. Instead he slid right through the illusion and slammed into the ground with a grunt of pain.

"I have learned a few new tricks since my return to Asgard," he heard Loki's voice behind him. "You think a dagger would hurt me? You fool. " He gasped as the Jotunn stomped on him, sending shooting pain up his spine. The weight shifted on his back as the god leaned above him and he could imagine the wicked grin on his face. "I jumped away from you, then used a little teleportation spell and kept your pathetic excuse of a weapon levitating in the air."

"Thanks for the explanation," Clint snapped sarcastically as he fought to get air into his lungs. Loki drove his foot down with a shove and he growled, angry with himself for not being able to wriggle free. Loki was much stronger than he gave him credit for.

"Now," The god whispered and Clint flinched as he felt a blade on the side of his neck and jerked wildly to get free. "Let me show you how to properly wield a weapo—" Suddenly the weight was thrown off of him. Clint shifted to see that Thor had thrown his brother to the ground, an element necklace dangling from his neck. He breathed a sigh of relief as the brothers started going at it after Loki shot a beam of energy into a very disgruntled Thor.

He heard heavy footsteps behind him as he sat up and smiled. "Nice work, big guy," he breathed, "The timing couldn't have been better." He watched as the Hulk leapt from a cloud of dust and tossed Loki to the ground. Clint froze as he realized that if the Hulk was fighting in front of him…

"I am honored to meet you, Clint Barton. I think you will find that we have much in common."

The archer turned and came face to face with the nose of the stallion that had brought them there, staring down at him with dead, black eyes. Atop its back sat a woman with silky golden hair. More importantly she carried a silver bow that had an arrow in the quiver aimed directly at his head. "I apologize our meeting will be so brief."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why do i do this to myself. ;_;  
> thank you all for your continued feedback and support, i love you all!

The air above the battlefield was clear as Natasha looked down at the tablet in front of her. A small screen showed a fuzzy black and white picture of the earth around her. It was the video feed of a stealth drone that she had sent up after landing their SHIELD jet and seeing Bruce and Clint off. She had no business fighting the likes of Thor, Loki, and Steve, and she knew it. She could take on aliens, twenty armed men, hell, she had fought off big cats before, but that was nowhere near fighting against gods and superhumans. Besides, she had no grudges with anyone on the team and tearing Clint away from the chance at fighting Loki would not have ended well. She was here to fulfill her promise to War.

The drone would not be spotted, they were designed to fly over enemy encampments and provide surveillance from above for dangerous missions. Some had missiles, some didn't. They were small, efficient, and excellent in serving their purpose. The government's little secret. Of course, it was not that much of a secret anymore, many people knew that drones existed, but they only had a vague idea of their capabilities. Very similar to what they knew about her line of work.

"Jarvis, can you please deactivate the thermal cameras? I need to see radiation alone," Natasha said as she watched the white blobs on the screen bounce around as the rest of the Avengers fought each other. It was easy to see who was who, the Hulk's heat signature alone showed where Clint, Thor, and Loki were. Tony and Steve had moved some distance away, but neither of them appeared to have slowed down in their duel. She felt bad for Tony, he had obviously been pretty shaken after the Bruce incident, though he had tried to hide it with his sass. He had stayed up two nights in a row to work on the weapons, and was near delirious by the time Nick came after him with a sedative.

"I will try my best, I must say I am a tad overrun at the moment," the robotic voice replied, referring to the fact that JARVIS was busy keeping Tony alive.

"No problem, I just can't find a signature with thermal. "

Her heart clenched as she looked back at the screen, the sadness of the situation around her finally dawning on the spy. They were beating each other to death, all because of a few people on horseback.

"Radiation map is up," JARVIS announced. She pressed a button on the screen and the overhead view changed from thermal to black and white with radiation marked in blue. Steve and one of the gods were light blue splats, whispering across the fields as they fought against Bruce and Clint. Natasha blinked as she spotted a navy blue aura behind Clint, but she had no time to focus on what was going on as the drone moved away. Another navy blue shaped appeared as the drone moved back toward her and she knew that it was War. Only he would be surveying his destruction instead of picking on someone. She thought back to the restaurant where he had been practicing his chess game while people murdered each other outside. It was as if he couldn't care less about the lives of anyone or anything. He was just standing there.

She slipped the tablet in her pocket, leaving the drone to continue circling. On her wrist was a tiny bracelet with an amethyst pendant, the only color sticking out of her full body catsuit. A press of the stone and her body began to disappear. Her suit was a SHIELD prototype, using micro reflector panels similar to those from the helicarrier to turn her essentially invisible. Thermal cameras would still pick her up in a heartbeat, but she was banking that War didn't have thermal vision. Her head was exposed, she hated the thought of wearing a ridiculous looking ski mask when a grey scarf would to just as well. Natasha pulled just such a scarf from one of her many pockets and wrapped it around her head and neck, leaving only her eyes visible.

Cracking her neck, she started into a run toward where the screen had shown the glowing blue mass. With the swirling dust and ash it would be near impossible to see or hear her in her camouflage, or it would at least get her close enough to deal a lethal blow. Her breathing was labored as she ran, even with the filter of the scarf she was still taking in a lot of dust. But a bit of dirt in her throat would not affect her, not today. She gripped the curved shortblade at her side, its sheath concealing the glowing blue of the Stark element that had been gilded over the metal.

War stuck out like a sore thumb in the barren world around him. He seemed to divert the whirling dust from hitting his face, and his bold features still had a healthy color, not a dull grey from being coated in dust. He was leaned back on his horse, the crimson animal looking exactly the same as it had before, bored and unamused. She gripped the blade, dropping to her version of a hunter's crouch as she sidled forward.

As she was about to strike, War craned his head back, his bored blue eyes staring at her upside-down. He sighed loudly. "Come on, Natasha, you really think you can sneak up on me?"

Instead of responding, she lunged, pulling the blade and slicing it through the air. To her surprise, the horse lurched to life in the same instant and skillfully avoided the hit with such speed she had not realized she missed for a few moments.

"Now, look, you're making my horse nervous."

She pulled the scarf from her face, green eyes blazing. War gave a hearty smile and lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a small wave.

"I came here to kill you, just like I said."

"Yes, yes, you've got some thing with debts. Red ledger, all that. I know. " He flicked his wrist in dismissal. "I can assure you this is one mission you will fail."

"Sorry, failure isn't an option.," she snarled.

He rolled his eyes, bringing a hand to his temple. "Save it. You were quite eager to fail when your darling Clint kissed your scar. Adorable."

Natasha came at him again and aimed for his thigh but he caught her wrist before she could get there. "Now, now, that isn't very nice." In one smooth movement he slipped from his steed, still holding onto her arm with a grip she couldn't shake. His eyes tore into her, turning blood red and menacing.

"We've got necklaces, your powers won't work," she hissed, jerking her hand again.

"Yes, so I've noticed," he said bemusedly before tossing her hand away. staring at her neck. Natasha unzipped the top of her suit just enough to pull the glowing necklace into the light. War's red eyes flickered and she had to contain a smile.

"As long as I'm wearing this, you can't touch me with your powers." Her ploy was working perfectly as she noticed his fingers twitch. She was getting him riled, and that's exactly what she needed. She wasn't going to be able to get him with her blade, but if she could get him to touch the element himself, she would have time to strike.

"You really make me reconsider what I did to you. I should have burned those lips of yours, then at least it would hurt to run your mouth," he growled.

"I dare you to do it again," Natasha taunted, readjusting her fingers around the hilt of her shortsword.

"Nah, I don't really feel like it." War jutted his chin toward the clouds of dust behind him where the rest of the Avengers were still fighting. "I have a show I need to watch."

"No. I want you to," she breathed. In reality she would rather get trampled to death by his horse than get anywhere near him. She could feel the bile rise in her throat as she took a step closer. A miniscule shiver of fear ran through he as she noticed that he didn't feel human. She was close enough to feel human body heat, but it still felt as though she were standing a distance away. War cracked a smile and his eyes went back to their normal ice blue. He lifted a hand and lifted it to her cheek. His touch was chilling and she nearly threw herself away from it. In all honesty she had not expected him to even be able to touch her, but it made sense. She was only being kept from his powers by the element's radiation, so unless War was touching the element, he could still do whatever he wanted to her.

She lightly pulled away, making it look as though she was just playing hard to get. "No tricks," she lied, forcing a smile. War raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the necklace. Then he caught her lips in a kiss. But this time, she was ready to strike back.

* * *

Tony jerked backwards as the Captain's shield collided with his torso. His in-suit screen flickered as it read the damage. This fight had already proved to be a bad idea. When they had first joined up to be the Avengers he had taken on Thor, who had deserved every punch, and it had been Steve who had broken it up and brought them back to focus. Some made jokes that Cap was nothing but a regular guy, that he was worse than Clint and Natasha because he had no spy skillset or dead aim. But Tony knew he had a skill that far outmatched them: Captain America had leadership. He could pull a group of strangers together just by waving at them. Even guys like himself, who never listen to anyone but themselves, were caught up in Rogers' infectious ability to appear in control.

Thus, it was ridiculously difficult to try to injure a man he looked up to. The man his father never shut up about. That was the most painful part; the reason why when he first met the Captain he had instantly hated him. Howard Stark was a grade F, awful father. But every heroic thing that showed on the news, every good samaritan story that reached his ears spurred a tale about the Star Spangled Man With A Plan, good ol' Cap. In eighth grade when he had won a national engineering competition against college students, Howard had been halfway across the world, searching for a downed plane. He had claimed it might contain important artifacts that needed to be recovered, so much so that it was dearer to him than his own son. Years later Tony learned that he was just continuing his near obsessive search for the lost Captain.

Even so, when he was a boy he had looked up to him too. He was caught up in his father's hype, and the goody-goody personality of all that was Captain America. At one point, Tony considered going on a search for the lost American using his trust fund money, on the hope that if he found something relating to the crash that his father would finally notice something about him. Slowly his admiration turned to hatred, and he blamed Steve for taking his father from him. He didn't even like his father, but if Captain America hadn't gotten lost, would that have changed? Would his father have spent more time with his son? Questions like that became so constant that he had to drink them away.

Steve had no idea of course; he just thought Tony had it out for him because of their personality differences. And then he proved worthy of Howard's talk. The soldier saved his life in the engine turbine, and without his damn leadership the Chitauri might have wreaked havoc on more of the city.

The shield came at him again and he caught it with an outstretched hand. He cranked up the power on his blaster with a heavy heart. JARVIS had kept the power down to try and save the solider from serious injury. But that wasn't going to work anymore. He held the shield above his head as Steve fought to shove it down onto him, ferocity burning in the Captain's eyes. With a painful swallow, Tony lifted his free hand and fired directly into Steve's chest. The look on the other man's face would stay with him for a long time. His eye's bulged, then went half-lidded as the rest of his body contorted in overwhelming pain. Steve buckled, clutching the basketball sized hole in his costume where the beam had burned away the fabric and scorched his skin. Tony tossed the shield aside and guided his friend to the ground, brow creased with sorrow.

It was like in war movies when the private that no one really paid attention to suddenly gets torn apart by a machine gun. All the sudden he's the only one that matters in the whole fight. He's the one who moved the team along, the guy they could pick on and he would take it all in stride and laugh at himself with them. There was no evil in Steve's eyes now; his eyes were clouded with blinding pain. Pain that Tony had caused.

"Hang in there, Cap," he murmured, opening his helmet. The Captain's eyebrow twitched, but he didn't say anything. Tony pulled the necklace from his wrist and tipped Steve's head up to slip it around his neck. The glowing blue pendant fell onto his chest and Tony began to show a weak smile. That is, until Steve screamed.

The sound wasn't a deep manly yell or a high-pitched cry, no, it was much worse. He finally realized what bloodcurdling meant as every fiber of his body seemed to fray and twist in on itself. His eyes widened in a subconscious reaction to the tears that ran down Steve's face. The soldier began to writhe in pain, clawing at the pendant as though it were killing him. Tony ran through every scenario, wondering why it was causing such a reaction. Natasha had been fine, but Steve was screaming like a banshee and throwing himself wildly in frenzied pain.

"Get it off me!" the Captain shouted, "Tony, get it off me! GET IT OFF OF ME!"

Tony bit his lip so hard he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. He just sat there and shook his head. The necklace wasn't coming off, no matter how much it hurt. Steve finally caught his fingers in the band and pulled with all his might. The billionaire flinched as the carbon fiber weave went taught, burying into the back of his friend's neck. He couldn't watch anymore and shot a hand out, gripping Steve's wrist and yanking his hand away from the necklace and squeezing his eyes shut as he saw the bloody line across the soldier's palm where he had pulled. The Captain still threw himself wildly, and raised his other hand from his burn wound to try to punch at his arc reactor.

"I hate you," Steve seethed, "I hate you! You did this to me! Your father was everything you aren't! He wouldn't sit there and watch me die!" Tony's chest sunk, but he kept his firm hold. Then, ever so slowly, the man began to calm down. His screaming turned to groans and then to pained sighs. The billionaire released his grip and noticed that his hands were trembling to hard he could hear the metal of his suit jostling. He caught Steve's head as he fell limp with a look on his face as if he had just fallen asleep there.

After a moment of silence, he whispered into the swarming ash around him with lifeless brown eyes, "Dammit, Steve, I hate me too."

* * *

Clint was lucky his instincts were faster than his brain. He rolled just as the woman shot and arrow at him, so close he could hear the rush of air in his ear. With a quick roll he was on his feet, twisting away from another silver bolt and ripping the crossbow from his back. He thrust his arm and the bow snapped to full length as he pulled an arrow from his quiver with his free hand.

"I didn't expect you to be a girl," he growled, popping the arrow into place and shooting. She had to be Conquest, and now that he thought back to the blurbs he distinctly remembered the mention of a crown and a bow. She seemed prepared for him to shoot at her, so when the arrow buried itself into her horse she let out a hiss of surprise. The stallion reared, black eyes widening in pain.

"I didn't expect you to shoot animals," Conquest retorted, slipping from her steed as though it were part of a ballet routine. The horse loped away, careening awkwardly due to the metal arrowhead in its chest. "Lucky for you, he won't die."

"A shame," Clint said as he fired another shot. She stepped away easily and fired an arrow of her own. Neither arrow met their mark. The archer gritted his teeth, automatically angry by the fact that he had missed. Hawkeye seldom missed. Conquest seemed to sense his frustration and flashed a dazzling smile.

"I apologize that you aren't quite the marksman you claim to be."

"I could kill you in my sleep."

"Could you? Prove it." She conjured another arrow and sent it flying at him. Instead of immediately dodging he snapped another arrow to his bow and shot as he threw himself backwards, juts missing the bolt as it flew over his head. As Conquest moved to dodge, Clint's arrow split into four and one caught her in the arm. She snarled in pain and snapped the metal with her bare hands. He had done what he wanted, her shooting hand was now injured and she knew it.

"I guess I was foolish to think you would play fair," she hissed, tossing the shaft of the arrow to the dust.

"I am playing fair, I'm just playing the updated version."

"Oh? Well, let me enlighten you on the new rules." Conquest flicked her fingers and another silver arrow appeared in her hand and suddenly shot off. Clint barely moved in time, cursing under his breath for taunting her. She was not a human, she could launch arrows from her hands! _Good one, Clint._ He released another bolt but Conquest was through playing dodgeball and grabbed the arrow between two fingers. This time he wasn't fortunate enough to have shot an exploding arrow, and watched with a flicker of fear as she dropped it to the ground.

Conquest turned her head, peering over at the new fight that had emerged between Thor and Loki. "I liked having the God of Thunder. He was so loyal, just like Steve. "

Clint shifted uneasily; placing his bow on his back because he knew arrows would do nothing now. "You poisoned him with your powers. He was forced to listen to you."

"Loyalty is not something that can be brainwashed, dear human. Would you say you were loyal to Loki? Of course not. You could still feel hatred for him while under his control."

The archer swallowed. She was right, he may have been under Loki's control, but he had still fought it to the very end, though he knew it would be a pointless battle. Conquest smiled. "Natasha was not loyal to my brother, he went about it the wrong way. I have a couple of lifetimes on him, though it was only a blink to me. Thor and Steve? They don't want to be saved. Admittedly, Thor is fighting with his brother at the moment, but that was something ingrained in him since birth. " She took a few steps forward, glancing at the dark red running down her arm. "Thor must protect his brother from harming himself. It is in his nature. I beg of you to—" A giant green blur slammed into her and threw he to the ground. The Hulk roared angrily, tearing off her crown and smashing it in his giant palm.

"Talk too much," the green giant bellowed. Clint laughed and watched as Conquest struggled to free herself from the iron grip of the Hulk. The archer pulled his bow back out, and drew the only white arrow from his quiver. At the end was a glowing blue tip. He walked over slowly and saw the surprise in her now white eyes.

"Sorry, lady," he smiled, aiming for her forehead, "I've played fair, I gotta get my prize. " And with that, he shot the arrow into her skull. To his surprise, Conquest did not scream or struggle; instead she shut her eyes calmly, going limp as a ragdoll. It really creeped him out. Then, as quickly as the arrow had shot, she vanished. Her silvery dress and bow were all that remained. The Hulk stepped away with a loud snort, as though waiting for her to reappear.

"So, that's it? She's dead?" Clint blinked, not quite believing it. A boom of thunder sounded overhead, so loud that even Hulk flinched. Thor and Loki were pummeling each other in the dust, and Loki looked to be winning. The archer stepped forward, but a massive green hand stopped him.

"No fight," Hulk commanded. And who was he to argue with the guy who could tear him in two? But he swallowed thickly anyway, watching in silence as Thor got another crack to he face.

"He's gonna be okay though, right?" Clint asked, eyes flickering with slight concern. "I mean, he's fought you before. And he's a god. So he's gonna be fine. Right?" The Hulk looked down at him with a look that made his blood run cold. No, Thor was not going to be all right.


	15. Chapter 15

He was only vaguely conscious of his true self as he was pinned to the ground. Thor Odinson, yes, that was his name. He had been torn away from his body for so long that he had trouble recalling it. In the beginning he thought he could fight his way through it, as he had with everything in his life. Brute strength quickly proved to be meaningless against Conquest. She knew his every move, every thought that ran through his head was also hers. So it did not take long at all to become imprisoned in his own mind. Reality became skewed, his sense of time all but abandoned. Every day was a nightmare that never ended, and each time he felt he had finally awoke he saw himself following behind her. There was no attachment between his body and mind; it was as if he were chained to a runaway horse. Left to do nothing but shut his eyes and hope it would not kill him.

When he saw the Hulk above him in the dim light of his consciousness, he remembered their previous fight in the helicarrier. His body had no such memory and swung Mjolnir full force, sending the giant backward into the air. But the second time the Hulk rammed into him, his hammer was knocked from his hands and jarring shock rattled his brain. His spirit could only watch with half-lidded eyes as his physical form tried to recover. The connection between the body that fought and the soul that watched from afar was so battered and frayed that he did not even know if it existed.

Thus, when the necklace was placed around his neck, the sensation of the two being smashed together again was one of unimaginable pain. It felt similar to trying to ram a broken bone back into place and shoving the battered together to try and meld it again. Being the prince of Asgard, he had been in many battles; he had survived being speared, whipped, and cut by sword. None compared to the pain he felt then. Sinews of his mind slowly, torturously tied back with his body, every connection felt as though it were being welded into place by a stream of fire. Thor released an earth shattering cry and found himself suddenly unable to handle it any longer. He fell limp to the ground in a cloud of dust, crimson cape rippling at the impact.

_"You are so blind, so misshapen in your sense of what needs to be done, I would pity you if not for your idiocy."_  A voice broke through the haze, a voice both mangled parts of him remembered with tenderness. His brother. Thor grunted and opened his eyes once more, his vision blurred. Slowly he found his way to standing, barely aware of the Hulk's breathing next to him. When his sights cleared he saw Loki leaned over Clint, holding a blade to his throat. But he found himself focused on his brother and not on his friend. His blue eyes were fixed upon the sneer on Loki's face and the evil that lie therein. He knew that look; it haunted him many times in his sleep. A look of reckless abandon that meant his brother was not planning to back down. Killing Clint was no trick play, the God of Mischief actually planned to do it.

So he did what he had always done. He protected his brother. Loki hated to think he needed to be protected; he made that clear many times in his life. He was not a porcelain doll that could crack with the slightest touch, he was a god, and Thor often forgot that. Perhaps it had started subconsciously when he was younger, an unknown part of him picking up on Loki's life in the shadows. It was rooted deep within him, more so than his need to protect Midgard or even Asgard in some cases. Loki did not need protection from the world, he needed protection from himself, and Thor was the only one who saw it. The Loki he knew did not kill in cold blood.

They slammed to the ground in a pile of leather and metal. Thor stood up, breathing heavily as Loki twisted to face him. No words were said, blue met green in a two-sided glare. He could see the numbness in his brother's body, the evidence that he was still held captive by Conquest. The Jotunn hissed suddenly and sent a shot of energy into his chest. Falling back was a familiar sensation, but landing so harshly was not. His brother had much more power than he had anticipated. Thor had felt it also; Conquest's capture had given him a new sense of power he had never felt before. Now he lacked that power, and Loki still possessed it. For once in their lives they were truly equal.

Before he could get to his feet, the Hulk appeared in front of him and tossed his brother away as though he were a toy. For some reason that angered him. The giant turned to face him and Thor shook his head gravely.  _This is my fight._  The Hulk snorted loudly, but the Thunderer's gaze did not falter. It appeared as though the green man was not going to listen, but something else caught his eye and he jumped away. Loki wiped the blood from his mouth, his horned helmet slightly askew.

"Odd, I thought you to relish the help of your pathetic Midgardian friends," the Jotunn snarled. He clutched a glowing blue dagger in his hands, the one he had been holding to Clint's neck, and suddenly it began to transform. It grew longer at the handle, with gold curling around the hilt as it turned into a staff. But it was not a staff. Thor watched as the bluish blade grew curved into a shimmering crescent shape, and noticed the glint of satisfaction in Loki's eyes. "A scythe, dear brother. To reap what was sown. To rid this realm of the infectious weeds it now possesses."

Thor gritted his teeth and launched himself at his brother again. This time Loki met him head on, and the elder prince was surprised to find that he was struggling. Suddenly the blunt end of the scythe connected with his jaw and he flew to the dirt. The pain was sharp, but he had no time to dwell on it. He rolled away as the weapon came at him again, and called Mjolnir to his hands. The hammer glowed blue as he sent a wave of electricity at his brother and Loki struggled to stay standing as the lighting rolled through him. The scythe shot out its own energy, and the two forms of energy connected with a loud boom, sending both gods to the ground.

"Thor!" The Thunderer looked up to see Clint holding a blue pendant necklace. It soared through the air and landed inches from him. He knew the amulet was the only way to save his brother. He scrambled forward in the dust and reached out, grasping the thread between his fingers. Just as he moved to pull it back to him, a blinding pain shot up his leg and he bellowed in pain. He craned his neck back to see Loki standing behind him, breathing heavily with blood trickling from his mouth, scythe blade buried in Thor's calf.

* * *

Natasha had to refrain from retching as she held War's kiss. Never before has she been so disgusted to kiss someone, and she had a lot of bad experiences to draw from. Everything about him was inhuman, his lips were cool against hers, not warm or the least bit inviting, It felt like she was kissing a corpse. He pulled away slightly, ice-blue eyes opening to search her face. Natasha allowed the faintest smile to cross her lips, though she could feel her stomach drop as she did so. She hadn't been expecting him to draw back so quickly. He grinned and then met her lips again with more force.

Suddenly her hands were wrapped around her pendant and she shoved it against his chest, eyes blazing. War blinked and looked down to the glowing blue element triangle now pressed against his cold skin.

"Oh, right, that's my cue." He cleared his throat and contorted his face in mock pain, "Ouch! I'm dying! No, not the blue metal! It burns!" He began to laugh, then shook his head. Natasha stood there like an idiot, not believing what she was seeing.

"But…your powers…" she stammered.

"Precisely. My  _powers_ , not me," War let out a groan as he rolled his eyes, "Come on, Natasha! Honestly, you are all so clueless! We aren't going to die, or get wobbly from a glowing piece of metal. His eyes flashed dangerously as he pried the pendant from her hand, flipping it around in his palm. Natasha felt her throat close as she saw that he was not the least bit afraid. She had vastly underestimated the horsemen, again. War seemed to know what thought had crossed her mind, and a smirk appeared on his face.

"You all have your weaknesses. No matter how strong you think you are, you will fail against us. Maybe against Loki you managed to fall prey to success, but Loki is nothing more than a Frost Giant with a few family problems." War's hand shot out, latching onto her neck. Natasha hissed in pain, and reflexively kneed him in the gut. The horseman grunted and released her, but kept his hand close for a moment.

"I knew Loki wasn't a real threat the second I found out that there was a way to stop the portal," she snarled.

War snorted, "A little late, don't you think?"

She swallowed, realizing how stupid she sounded. Where was her control? The situation was slipping through her fingers like the dust on the ground.

"I didn't even have to talk to Loki first before I knew how to play you. I knew the second you walked into my range that you think you must be the most attractive woman on the planet." He leaned closer until she could see miniscule fleck of red in his irises she had never noticed before. "Natasha Romanoff, beautiful, clever, and _so_  full of yourself."

She slapped him hard across the face, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted tight. She was not going to stand there and let some horseman degrade her. Many a man had gotten a black eye from trying to do just that. War twitched, and an evil smile crossed his face as he turned back to her.

"You think I was caught in your beauty?" He let out a short laugh. "Please. I've seen women who make you look like trash. I'm not human, Natasha," he stepped closer, heavily invading her personal space. "I don't sin like humans. I most certainly don't lust after mortal women. " He cocked his head and a darkness settled into his eyes. "But I knew you thought I did. So, that was  _my_  play. I—" War faltered, stepping back.

Natasha quickly shoved the necklace back into her suit. She had little doubt War would try and grab for it again. The horseman looked suddenly heartbroken, eyes wide, though now they were completely red. She wasted no time pouncing on him in his unexpected weakness. She landed harshly on top of him and pinned his arms under her knees. With her left hand she rammed a palm to his forehead, trusting that his center of gravity was human-like.

"Let me guess, that was a play too?" She flashed a vengeful smile.

"My…sister," War breathed. Natasha blinked, turning around to try and see through the haze. She could only see clouds of dust, but she could sense that something had indeed happened to Conquest. The horseman below her was the only one left. She fiddled with her belt and pulled out her shortblade. The metal shimmered with blue against his pale flesh, highlighting the purple veins underneath. She had been in this exact position hundreds of times. It was strange to feel the slow relaxation of a body as it realized that this was its end, and War was no different, no matter how much he claimed to be.

"You will never win," the horseman growled, "I've made sure of it."

"The same way you made sure to stay alive?" she questioned, pressing the sharp edge into his skin and drawing a bit of blood. War stiffened slightly, but kept his eyes locked on her, pupil-less and frightening. "I made a promise to you."

A small smile formed at his lips. "Ah, yes. Best fulfill your promises. Don't want to add another sin to that ledger of yours," he growled.

She plunged the shortsword into his neck, but instead of lurching or even grunting, War just took in a deep breath and shut his eyes. His lips parted and the tiniest of sounds came from his lips. "Finally."

She blinked. Finally what? But there was no time to dwell on the words as the dust suddenly cleared from the air. The wasteland opened around her in all its burned glory. She moved to make sure was war dead and suddenly dropped a few inches to the ground. The body beneath her was gone, nothing left but the suit jacket and pants that the horseman had been wearing. Carefully, she moved her hand to the collar and caught the glimmer of gold. His necklace. She pulled the gold chain and the ruby and gold sword pendant came from beneath his shirt. With a satisfied smirk, she put the necklace over her neck. She stood and looked over to see Tony with Steve slung over his shoulder walking toward Clint and Bruce.

But something was wrong. Clint was yelling, and gesturing wildly behind him. Whatever he was said, it caught Tony's attention. She noticed that the sky was near black overhead with low rumbles of thunder but no lightning. Curious and a little worried, Natasha jogged forward and Clint finally reached Tony. She caught the metallic ring as the billionaire replied and shifted Steve to the ground.

"—going to be okay?" Clint was asking as she finally got within earshot.

"Yeah. Just got the living daylights blasted out of him,' Tony replied. "Now I gotta go save some Goldilocks tail before he gets himself killed." The red and gold suit shot off, but got smacked out of the air by a giant green hand before he got even twenty feet up.

"No. Danger." The Hulk grunted. "Much danger."

Tony slowly got to his feet and his eye lights were flickering out of control. "You coulda just said that before you wrecked my suit," the billionaire growled. A sudden peal of lightning flashed overhead, bright enough to cut through the swirls of dust that still remained from what Natasha suspected was a fight between Thor and Loki. Clint swallowed thickly and the rest of them followed his gaze to a pair of shadows in the haze. Natasha's chest clenched and she suddenly couldn't find any breath in her lungs. Loki, easily recognizable by his lithe frame, held a blade to his brother's neck, and Thor, for the first time she had ever seen it, looked helpless to stop what was coming next.

* * *

Thor hissed in pain as Loki yanked backward on the scythe, pulling him by his leg until his brother loomed overhead. The elder prince still gripped tightly to the pendant, but the pain immobilized him. With a wet pull, the blade was tugged from his flesh, and Thor gritted his teeth until he thought his jaw would crack. He could feel the blood pouring from his calf, spilling out like red velvet in the dust.

"Look at you, the mighty Thor, cowering before me," Loki's voice cut through the silence as the god of thunder struggled to get back to his feet.

"Stop this," he panted, summoning Mjolnir.

The Jotunn growled and swung the scythe again, but Thor caught it with a small movement of his hammer. The Asgardian was not giving up that easily. He never had. "You are not my brother," he snarled weakly.

Loki's smiled, "Ah, yes, now you see."

"You are controlled by Conquest," he hobbled forward and noticed that his godlike healing powers were quickly closing off the bleeding.

"Indeed I am."

"I know the true Loki, my brother, resides somewhere inside." His entire body felt as though it were made of lead. Every movement was painful and slow, excruciating and torturous to both body and soul.

"Of course he does. Who do you think is telling me how best to weaken you?" The Jotunn snarled. A beam of energy shot from his hands and Thor had no time to react before he was on the ground again. His ears began to ring and he spat dust from his mouth, and started to cough as some of it got into his throat. His vision blurred and he stuck a hand out for Mjolnir, but the hammer did not come. It crossed his mind that he may not recover from this fight, but it was not a new thought. There had been times when he was so close to death that he had imagined the gates of Valhalla in front of him. Now there was only a sea of grey.

Loki grasped a handful of his golden hair and lifted him to his knees. The younger prince glowered down at him, eyes shadowed and filled with bloodlust. Thor tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing instead. He could only remember that he had once met those eyes with fondness, before Jotunheim, before the Chitauri. The eyes of his little brother, not the monster he thought himself to be. Loki caught the softness in his eyes and gave a disgusted snort. The Jotunn's knee rammed into Thor's jaw, sending him arching and landing flat on his back in a plume of dust. His vision went dark for a moment and then came back into focus as he twisted to his side.

A boot kicked him in the stomach with a harsh  _whump_ , spraying stars across the elder prince's vision.  _"And when they fall to the ground, kick them!"_ The voice of his younger self ran through his mind. " _But, Thor, that seems awfully harsh."_  Loki had replied, looking down at the invisible foe at their feet.  _"Loki, it's a Frost Giant! They deserve it!"_

Thor opened his mouth and found he had lost the ability to cough; he could only suffer the vile sensation of blood dribbling up his throat and onto the parched earth. Loki stood above him as he rolled onto his back, and stomped heavily onto his chest, expelling what little air was left in his lungs. He fought for a breath that did not come. He tried to speak, but only a frothy crimson gurgled from his mouth. The scythe tip was pressed to his jugular but Thor did not feel fear, only a deep sadness that permeated every fiber of his being. He had never wanted to kill his brother, not in any of this. He always felt that Loki, somewhere in his soul, had not truly want him dead either. Yet here they were, the steel of his brother's weapon, slicing his throat. Perhaps there was hope yet.

"Loki…" his voice was nothing more than a rasp in his throat, but the younger prince leaned closer, eyes flickering with satisfaction. Thor lifted a trembling hand, but before it could reach his brother's face Loki recoiled.

"You fool!" The scythe pierced through his skin, but before Loki could slice, Mjolnir crashed into his backside, throwing him wildly. Thor fought for air as the hammer returned to him, struggling to his hands and knees. Adrenaline began to numb the pain as he staggered forward to where his brother was crumpled on the ground. He tossed Mjolnir and it landed squarely on the Jotun's chest. Loki coughed harshly at the impact, dropping his scythe to clutch at the handle. Thor dragged himself over to his brother and collapsed from exhaustion as the sensation of carrying his own weight finally overcame him. He fought off the darkness, clutching the pendant tightly enough to draw blood in his hands. The pain brought some clarity to his vision, enough to maneuver himself onto his brother's chest. His elbow knocked Mjolnir away, but Loki did not have the strength to fight him off this time.

With the last of his strength, he slid the necklace over Loki's head as he struggled beneath him. The blue pendant hit the Jotunn's ghostly skin and glowed brightly. Thor knew what would come next, and gripped his brother's cloak tightly, resting his head on Loki's chest. The younger prince arched with a scream of agony that vibrated through Thor's hulking frame and he squeezed his eyes shut at the sound. After a few long moments the screaming subsided to shaky pained breaths, then slowed to deep inhales that sounded as though Loki was sleeping. Thor lifted his head to find his brother's emerald eyes trained on him, shocked and frightened.

The elder prince forced himself up, but he still did not have the strength to stand so his arms were on either side of his brother as he tried to regain his power. Blood still streams from his leg and neck, but that did not matter. Loki was alive.

The Jotunn swallowed thickly as he stared up at him. "Thor…" he paused, swallowing again. "Do you love me?"

Thor grinned, the softness returning to his eyes. "Just as you will always be my brother, I will always love you." It was words he seldom spoke, but all were true. Despite his brother's heritage, he would always be his brother, and Thor would always, no matter what, fight for him.

Loki's eyes flashed and suddenly both of his hand were at Thor's collar, pulling himself close enough for Thor to see the pores of his skin. The Jotunn's lips parted and he moved them to his brother's ear.

"Well, I  _loathe_  you," the younger prince seethed. With a shove, Thor was knocked away, landing roughly on his side after skidding across the dirt. The pendant still shone blue on Loki's chest, now accompanied with a sadistic smile, much worse than any he had seen before. The elder prince finally saw that the end was truly near, he had done is best. Perhaps his brother had finally reached the point of no return, the place in which there was no feeling but hatred and loneliness. Thor's purpose was to drive such things away, but he had failed. The scythe settled at his neck again and he swallowed.

"I am sorry—"

"Silence, you mindless neanderthal," Loki hissed. Suddenly the Jotunn's body jerked and he looked down to his thigh where a sleek black arrow stuck from his flesh. His grip tightened on the scythe and cried out as another arrow buried itself in his elbow. Thor watched as the ferocity returned to his brother's eyes, but before he could move yet another bolt found its way into his hip and the Jotunn dropped to his knees. The scythe fell away, but Loki still tried to conjure a spell at his hands. Thor let out a silent scream as he saw the tip of an arrowhead lift the fabric of his shoulder pad. His brother slumped forward onto Thor's stomach, his eyes stretching wide before his entire body went limp.

The god of thunder lifted his hands, tears stinging in his eyes as he cradled Loki's head in his arms. He thought back to Asgard, just before they had descended onto Midgard once more, his brother's voice echoing in his head.  _"I can't go back there, not yet."_  And Thor had silenced him, not once had he thought that Loki was right.

Guilt and sadness washed over him in waves as he finally relented, allowing the tears to trickle from his eyes and the salt to sting as it ran into his wounds. He was hardly conscious of hands pulling him up, but he shouted incoherently when they tried to pull his brother away from him. He could not let them take his brother away.  _His_  brother. The wind began to kick up around him as he pulled Loki closer, growling venomously at the hands that tried to touch him. Thor felt a prick in his shoulder and winced, knowing that it was one of the devices used to sedate him. His vision darkened, his last sight was the glazed green eyes staring back at him as Loki was lifted away. The darkness finally overcame him as he dipped into unconsciousness but a single sentence reverberated in his mind, a phrase that embedded itself into his very being, and would remain there until the end of his days.

" _I loathe you."_

_  
_


	16. Chapter 16

Nathan Sparrow was nothing more than a glorified nobody. He had grown up in Tilston, Ohio: a typical small town with nothing to do but fish, drink, and shoot things. A place where the biggest thing to look forward to was hunting season, though that did not prevent people from taking out a big buck if they saw one. For boys like Nate, the military was the only escape. The world was waiting, all they needed was a gun. The army offered him everything under the sun, the best guns money could buy, friends for life, honor, and glory. All things that captivated a young boy like him. If someone wanted out of anywhere, the army was waiting. But Nate was smart. On paper, he was not just a nobody. He was the top of his class and had every credential he could get his hands on: Eagle Scout, cross country and track team captain, all-state and all-American titles, great test scores (especially for Tilston), but he was never challenged so he never felt smart. He was a procrastinator, but he got the job done and got it done right.

Perhaps it was fate then, his choice to go into the medical field after being accepted into West Point Military Academy. When he told his dad on the phone that he was going to medical school he was nearly laughed off the line. Nathan Sparrow was an athlete, a hunter, a gun-toting redneck with a love of diesel and beer. Not a doctor.

Three months later he was sent on a residency beat in New Mexico. Used to small towns and endless barren landscapes, he was thought to be the only one who would be able to handle the nothingness that was the "land of enchantment." Perhaps it was this fate that led him to be working the ER when that man was wheeled in. There weren't many blonde, blue-eyed, bearded men in that town so he was hard to forget, and certainly none that were as physically adept as this one. Not much happened around that town, so when someone got tasered, it warranted a trip to the ER and an extensive testing, just so the doctors could flex their prowess. This guy was the perfect candidate, only a first name, no identification. For the first time in his dull residency, Nate got the chance to run bloodwork.

Blood had never phased him, he had been gutting animals since he was five years old. It wasn't the blood that made him double-take. It was the color. There was crimson, and then there was this man's blood. It was the closest thing to neon red he had ever seen outside of car light reflectors. Never before had he seen hemoglobin levels so high, so healthy. It was as if the guy had retained every last blood cell his body had ever created. He remembered poking at the blood bag and wondering for a split second if his blood was going to come alive.

The doctors in New Mexico had no idea what to do with it. Nate did. Though he was younger than all of them in terms of age and experience, he knew to call his superiors and report it. The phone call was brief, "Work on it."

And so he did. By the time SHIELD stormed into the hospital, Nathan Sparrow was an expert on the stuff. Regenerative in nature, this blood looked to be human, it acted human, but it was not human. Far from it. It was regenerative, unaffected by any disease or poison. Later Nate would find that it was even immune to HIV. He was a good little cadet, and showed the head agent, Agent Coulson, everything he had found. Surprisingly enough, the man didn't look phased at all.

* * *

It was unheard of to graduate early from West Point. Four years was not even enough time to do everything the Academy wanted to for their future leaders of America, so cutting it short was out of the question. Four years with a five-year service commitment. That was what Nate had signed up for. Instead, at age 20, he was released to graduate and join the SHIELD team. He was the only one who knew the workings of Thorsblood (his crafty little name for it). No one else could seem to grasp that it shouldn't be treated like blood at all, but something else entirely. It was a piece of a god, contained in a plastic bag with some tubing. It wasn't something that was supposed to stay there; it would eventually find its way back to its owner in some way or another. Transfusing it with human blood made it go berserk, so much so that the government had turned down its plans to use it in some super soldier serum. Nate was actually happy that hadn't happened, he didn't really want the stuff going around anyway. It could be dangerous, as dangerous as the man, the  _god_ , that it came from. He had tried to use some of its qualities to create a cure for cancer, a cure for HIV, a cure for anything, but the genetic makeup was impossible to work with. When not inside its owner, it acted as the most lethal poison on earth. It killed everything, mice, rats, monkeys, the works.

So when he was asked to participate in Phase Two, Nate was not surprised. He was the youngest doctor, the only doctor, to come through with something so extraordinary; he had alien blood in an IV bag! SHIELD offered him a small fortune to even consider it, and so he did. It didn't take him long to figure out what Phase Two was all about, weaponizing the powers of some energy source called The Cube. Nate didn't really care about that. He accepted the offer because he was asked to, and he was still a cadet at heart, where duty, honor, and country came first. SHIELD was honest with him, anything he wanted to know about was at his fingertips.

He was approached one day by a man close to the president, a man much higher up than Nick Fury on the totem pole. In addition to weapons, Phase Two needed a method to effectively take out any alien threats that proved to be too difficult. Thorsblood would be the key to the equation. Nate was ordered to create something that would act as a venom capable of killing the aliens. It sounded like something from a science fiction novel. He wasn't sure at first, he didn't like the thought of potentially killing the god who had given him this gift before disappearing into the stars. The man did not like that reaction, and threatened to have his precious Thorsblood taken from him. Nate had the problem of being part of an undercover, top-secret mission, where he could be killed and replaced and no one would know. He may have been the expert on Thorsblood, but the government was well known for its ability to make due with what it had. If Nate became a problem, he would be done for.

Human poisons had little effect, as he knew. Venom from creatures big and small did nothing, not even the saliva of a komodo dragon would cause a reaction. He moved to chemicals, but their effects only lasted seconds before the blood regenerated and snuffed it out. Cube-powered shocks did nothing. Finally, after months of searching, he found the most unlikely poison. It happened when he was testing whether or not human drugs would affect it. Morphine momentarily sedated the regenerative powers. One night at his desk, after Loki's attempt at world domination, he took a small vial of Thorsblood and added the morphine. Next he added a drop of the only chemical that had done anything to disturb the blood in previous tests. The venom of _enhydrina schistose_ , the common sea snake, responsible for over half of sea snake bites worldwide, evil little creatures that were rampant in the oceans. They also happened to be one of the most venomous snakes on earth. He remembered the cloud of black that formed in the blood, and remembered feeling almost in pain at his discovery. He had finally found his poison, but he almost didn't want to tell anyone. This combination of morphine and venom would eventually be used to kill something. How could he let that happen? But he was reminded that this was war and the least he could do was inform his superiors.

After his work was revealed he was sent away to try and look for more uses for Thorsblood. Meanwhile the government founded a Sea Snake Conservation program, though the common sea snake was just that, common. He was updated from time to time about the progress of the weaponization of his poison, but other than that he was left alone to his work as he scrambled to find a cure to something, if only to set his record straight.

That is, until the horsemen business started. He was contacted early on when Famine had been on the prowl. Thor had come back to earth with Loki in tow. He was flown to SHIELD headquarters as soon as the Avengers were sent out on a mission to kill Famine. Nate was brought up to speed in typical military fashion, a briefing and a few thick folders of information. He had always liked the snappy work of being an officer, though he had never gotten his chance to truly be one. While poring over the papers, he was told that that Thor had been downed. Nate was part of the medical team that met the returning Avengers at the entrance. But he had not looked to Thor first, the god who had given him a life and a purpose. Instead he locked eyes with the raven-haired man sitting in the back seat. All the things he had read in his research on Norse mythology, he still could not believe that it was Loki sitting there, staring distantly at the mess around him. The god that had very nearly destroyed the earth only months before, the one no one knew was back on earth. The Jotun prince. He had a thousand questions but a loud shout in his ear had brought him back to the task at hand.

But now he finally had his chance. The emergency lights were flashing in the SHIELD corridors as Nate hurried along with a stretcher and two other doctors. Loki had been shot, that was all he knew as he flew around corners toward the main lobby. He was met by an oncoming stretcher and froze, stumbling forward as the cot behind him slammed into his backside. Medical staff were frantically poring over the body on the table, and a wide spot of red blood on the mattress was evidently the reason why. Nate recognized the body instantly, Thor. The god looked beaten and disheveled, covered in ash and shut in a way that suggested he had taken multiple spills to the dirt. One of the doctors turned around as they moved the stretcher to get Thor past, and recognized Nate.

"Dr. Sparrow!"

Nate's mouth opened at his name, but it took him a few more moments of staring to snap back to the present. What could have possible done this? Thor's team slid to a stop, and Nate jolted himself back into medical mode. Standing there staring would only bring the god closer to death.

"I want someone to sew up those wounds, right now. Get him on an operation table and make sure you pump all the sedative you can into him. No numbing agents. Period." He stepped forward and examined the silver-gilded boot for a moment before grasping it and tugging it off. Blood dumped from the boot and it was obvious that Thor had been bleeding in it for some time. The too-crimson blood was captivating, or, it would be if it weren't such a bad sign. "Someone gave him something."

"He was given sedatives—"

"No," Nate shook his head. "Someone gave him a pain reliever. Hook him to an IV and flush it out. No pain relievers, even if he asks for them. But he shouldn't be awake to ask for them. Keep him sedated until I get there. " With a curt nod, Nate took off down the hallway, shoving his empty stretcher along. A nurse appeared in the hallway in front of them and motioned for them to follow her.

"He's been shot with four arrows."

"Arrows?" Nat repeated, incredulous.

"Yes. Steel reinforced bolt shafts, four blade arrowheads."

"How do you know that?" Nate asked as they turned the corner into the chaos of the lobby.

"Hawkeye was the one who shot him."

Nate blinked in surprise. It suddenly dawned on him that Loki might have not been the good guy this time around, again. For some reason he thought that the Jotun prince had truly changed, at least, it had seemed that way in the surveillance tapes. After Famine had attacked Thor, Nate had been in charge of overseeing the thunder god's recovery, but was also assigned to keep watch over his brother. Loki had paced and festered for hours on end before moving to his cot to stare at the ceiling with such guilt that when he finally stood up to leave Nate had done nothing to stop him.

The lobby was a mess. Steve Rogers was pushed by with a basketball-sized burn wound in his chest and a look of shock on his face. Agent Romanoff was stoic, fiddling with a gold necklace as she watched the crowd of medical personnel around her. Dr. Banner was nowhere to be seen, probably because the stressful environment would not be good for him. Tony Stark was speaking with Director Fury, and he looked beyond exhausted. The whole team was in shambles, or, what was left of them.

"Sparrow!" Nate turned towards the voice so see that his team had moved away from him. They were maneuvering a very dead-looking Loki Laufeyson onto their stretcher. He swallowed. This was going to be much worse than he thought.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and Loki looked as though he were being prepared for torture. Thick steel wires harnessed the god in place above the table to stopped the arrows from being pushed any further in. Oxygen tubes were fitted down his throat to prevent airway blockage. Next had come the dubious task of cutting away the armor around the arrow shafts. The assistants were still working on removing the shoulder pad when Nate moved in with the bolt cutters. Blood dripped onto the stainless steel operation table below, but Loki's was a more purplish red, not as vibrant as his brothers. Nate supposed that was from his Jotun roots, if Loki was really Jotun at all. The mythology was not always correct, it seemed. After all, it usually described Thor with red hair and a chariot pulled by two giant goats. He sighed, turning to Hawkeye who watched with guarded eyes from the corner of the room.

"Anything I should know about these arrows?"

"They should be easy to cut. It's the arrowheads that are the problem," the archer replied steadily.

Nate nodded and took a deep breath as he positioned the two blades around the shaft of the arrow that had gone clean through Loki's arm. Barton didn't disappoint, every arrow had pierced the god in such a way that it avoided major organs and arteries, but they would still be a bitch to get out. This one was settled just to the side of the humerus and narrowly avoided the articular cartilage of the elbow joint. Tricky to remove without catching the bone. He pressed the handles of the bolt cutter together and a hollow  _thunk_  sounded through the operating room as the blades broke through, followed by the rattle of metal on metal as the severed end of the arrow fell to the table below. Loki's head jerked slightly, but other than that he did not move. Not a good sign.

He placed the bolt cutters on the operating table and then grabbed a pair of pliers. Fixing the teeth over the tiny scrap of metal that stuck from the skin was no easy task. He breathed slowly, clamping down on the arrowhead.

"Get ready," he murmured to his head nurse, who gathered gauze. With one swift pull the arrow was out, and a fresh river of blood started at Loki's arm. Nate dropped the glinting silver arrowhead onto the table and picked up the bolt cutters again, still in disbelief that this was really happening. He gently lowered Loki's body via the pulley system above and winced at the sight of the god's back. Of course he had been through medical school and seen injuries far worse than this, but the bruises and deep scarring on Loki's back were particularly unnerving. These scars looked old, something he did not think was possible given the regenerative qualities that the gods possessed. Whatever had inflicted them had inflicted them enough times that the skin had stopped trying to regrow. The thought that there was something capable of doing that out in the world made him shiver.

He swiftly cut the second bolt sticking out of the trapezius, Loki's shoulder, and let it fall. The pliers fastened to the arrowhead that was still surrounded in a bit of thick leather from Loki's armor. This pull would have to be calculated more carefully than the first. The rhomboideus muscle was closely connected to the spinal cord and a tug in the wrong direction could cause nerve damage. Not to mention the arrowhead could have punctured the lung and moving it would cause the lung to deflate. He began to pull and the arrow was slowly drawn out, accompanied by a purplish-red stream following behind. He held his breath, waiting for a cry form the monitors about the lung, but nothing happened. Nurses attacked the now open wound with a barrage of white fluff and Nate took a step back, wiping the sweat from his brow. A knock sounded at the door and everyone in the room (except for Loki of course) looked to the door to see Director Fury, staring inside. Given that the medical staff in the room were sterilized, it was Agent Barton who opened the door.

"Barton. You're needed out there," Fury said curtly. Hawkeye nodded and slipped past and out into the hall. Then the director looked to Nate and motioned for him to join him outside. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the room and risk the safety of his patient, but he figured that whatever it was, it was important.

"Keep trying to stop the bleeding, I'll be back," Nate said reluctantly to his team before stepping out. "I hope this is important," he said flatly as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Oh, I assure you, it's very important," the director replied almost threateningly. He cleared his throat. "I've been contacted by Washington, more specifically, the President."

Nate swallowed. He did not like where this was going.

"Loki has been given his chance at redemption. Given that he was under the influence of Conquest, this time it could be forgiven, that is, until we discovered that he was wearing the device that cancels the horsemen's powers. With Thor incapable of resisting, and from what my sources tell me, the fact that he already thinks Loki is dead, it's the perfect time to strike."

"Strike?" Nate shook his head, bewildered. "Are you asking me to kill him?"

"There is an arrow dangerously close to his femoral artery. It would be an accident. No one asks questions."

"I'm a doctor, that's exactly what I'm sworn not to do!"

"You are a doctor in the United States Army, more specifically, SHIELD. You're sworn to us before you're sworn to anything else."

Nate's eyes narrowed. "It won't work. He won't die by bleeding out."

"We'll see," Fury replied. "If not, use this. It's been tested on Loki's blood already." He held up a vial that made Nate's stomach drop. "I assume you know how to use it, considering you were the one that created it. " He shoved the vial into Nate's hands. "Get to it, soldier."

It took a few moments for Nate to comprehend what was about to happen. What he was being asked to do. His heart was heavy as he walked back into the operating room and a lump formed in his throat as he placed the vial on the table.

"Doctor?" one of the nurses asked. He jerked back to attention and flashed a weak smile.

"Sorry. Let's get these out." He crossed to the opposite side of the table where an arrow had pierced the hip, but his eyes were on the arrow below it. Dangerously close to the femoral artery, just as Fury had said. Seeing that both arrows had not pierced completely through, Nate decided to go ahead and move Loki onto his back. Nurses cleared the operating table and very slowly he was lowered until he was lying flat on the cold steel. He though he saw a wash of blue on Loki's skin, but it vanished before he could fully grasp that it had even happened at all.

As he opened the wound further to extract the arrow he began to remember how much time he had spent staring at testing screens, but more so the happy memories of the praise he had received from people who had seen his work. The smell of his new office, the awards, the medals given in secret. The handshake from the President himself. All thanks to the god in the next room, who happened to be sedated, who happened to allow him a bag of blood (unknowingly, but that didn't matter). He owed Thor his entire life. The god had saved him from a life of mediocre medical studies and residencies, and instead opened his world to everything he had thought was impossible. And here he was, preparing to take the dearest thing Thor had away from him. But he had to. It was an order from the highest of superiors and it had backing. Nate basically had the most frightening being that had ever graced the planet under his knife, who knew how many more lives would be lost before Loki gained his bearings, if ever? Nate was no hero, this was not something glorious that would be recorded in history books, but it needed to be done. The arrow finally came free and he moved to the arrow that would end Loki's life.

He glanced at the Jotun prince as his assistants positioned the clamps around the arrow hole to give him better access. Loki's eyes were closed, but his brow was still slightly furrowed, even in unconsciousness. It was as though he could never fully escape form the world that hated him so bitterly. Nate didn't know what it was like in Asgard, but Earth hated him more than enough to suffice. The doctor swallowed thickly, and turned back to the arrow. Sweat began to make his gloves stick to his hands as he gripped the bolt. He could see the artery pulsing just millimeters from the sharp blade of the arrowhead. A great sadness filled him then, but he gave a small tug because he knew he had to. The entire wound filled with blood horrendously fast and the heartbeat monitor went berserk. Loki's heartbeat was fast to start with, but this was a new level of speed that the monitor could hardly keep up with. Nate pulled the arrow the rest of the way out and murmured commands to his assistants, frantically watching as the blood began to pool.

"We're losing him," one of the nurses announced.

"I know, I know," Nate growled and pressed a thick wad of gauze to the wound. "I barely clipped it. Just a graze…"

"Its not your fault."

He winced at the words, at how blatantly untrue they were. He stepped back, dropping his blood-drenched hands. "I can't stop it."

So the team stared with him in sorrow, pressing down on Loki's thigh but the blood continued to rush. The femoral artery was one of the quickest to bleed out and sure enough, seconds later to heart monitor screeched a long droning note. Loki was dead. Nate didn't care; he had to right this somehow. He took a clamp and forced the artery shut, without a heartbeat to pump the blood the bleeding slowed enough for him to do so.

"You guys go, I'll handle this." The team reluctantly left him alone. A few gave him a good-natured rub on the shoulder, each touch further reminding him that it was all his fault. He had just murdered someone. A god. A brother. A son. He sewed the tear in the artery shut, removed the clamp and closed the wound. He took the needle and thread to the rest of the plugged holes until every wound was sealed.

Suddenly he heard a tiny beep from the heartbeat monitor and turned. A single rise, but nothing more. Probably caused by the nervous system shutting down. He pulled a sheet from one of the side tables, and carefully placed the arrowheads and pieces of metal that had been lying on top of it onto the pile of discarded armor. In some form of last respects, he covered the cool body as much as he could with the white fabric; Loki's ratty remains of trousers, though gilded with gold, didn't seem suitable enough for a corpse.

Then came another beep. And another. The beginnings of a heartbeat were slowly activating in the Jotun prince. Oddly enough, fear gripped him at the sight. Nate was suddenly close to failing his mission, and though he had not wanted Loki to die, the thought of him coming back to life was more terrifying than any pain he could imagine from guilt. He turned back to the console and shut of the oxygen machine, guilt lashing at him like a whip, bur fear pressing him onward. He pulled off the oxygen mask and –much too quickly—pulled out the tubing in Loki's throat.

A loud gasp signaled that the god had finally awoken. Nate was momentarily captivated by the sight of Loki Laufeyson alive and in the flesh, but it was only for a moment. The young doctor grabbed for the vial Fury had given him and plucked a syringe from his arsenal of surgical tools. Instead of panicking, Loki merely watched him with curious eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. Nate flashed an uneasy smile, "I thought you were dead."

Loki didn't answer, he just watched as the syringe filled with the clear liquid. Nate flicked the needle and became painfully aware of the fact that Loki was only restrained by chains and wires that could probably be snapped with the twist of a finger.

"May I ask what you're injecting me with?" Loki asked, his voice surprisingly calm for a guy who had just been through surgery without anesthetic.

"Uh, yes, of course. It's a numbing agent. To ease the pain." Half true.

"I have felt worse, I do not need your 'numbing agent.'" The god eyed the needle with a wary eye. Nate smiled as he tried to keep his hands from shaking.

"Sorry, its just standard procedure." He moved closer and focused on getting it beneath the skin. Loki's forearm tensed, but he did nothing to stop it as Nate plunged the needle beneath the skin. Just as he began to push the end of the needle, the door opened.

Loki arched in pain, hissing furiously as the bit of poison started through his system. Nate paused momentarily at the sound of someone entering, and that gave Loki enough time to flex, snapping the needle in half. The god scrambled for footing on the stainless steel table, and that resulted in the table being flung across the room. He was prevented from falling by the pulley system, which was now tangling itself around him as he cursed fluently and spat bloody murder at the scorching pain that was running up his arm.

"What did you do?" The voice of Bruce Banner suddenly sounded in his ear as Nate was dragged back against the wall. Loki seethed against the restraints. Bruce yanked the vial from Nate's hands. "What is this? Tell me before the Other Guy pays a visit."

Nate swallowed, shaking his head. "I don't know it's, it's a morphine solution, I—"

Bruce pocketed the poison and left Nate pressed against the wall. It was almost as if they were locked in a room with a fighting bull, well, two fighting bulls if he counted the Hulk. Loki finally tore an arm free from the mess of sheets and wires, and for a moment he paused his rabid antics. His arm was now the color of blue limestone and with each heartbeat it was steadily spreading. Bruce froze, and for a moment the three of them could only stare as the smooth color began to creep up Loki's neck and toward his newly beating heart.

"Get—" Loki flinched, craning his neck away as though it would stop the poison, "Get this OUT OF ME!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as the blue began to reach his jaw and he began to struggle wildly once more.

"How much did you inject him with!" Bruce demanded, evidently searching for something that could counteract the poison that was slowly filling the Jotun's veins. Except Nate was the only one in the room who knew that it was poison.

"Hardly any! He snapped the needle!" Nate retorted, trying to regain his composure. This was just another procedure, another surgery. Patients were prone to shock-induced episodes, it certainly wasn't the first he had seen. Most just didn't involve a mythological god of mischief. He managed to get to his feet and take a few steps closer. Loki's breathing was shallow now as the blue began to cover his chest. Upon closer inspection though, Nate noticed that his body was functioning almost normally. But there was no way that the poison wasn't taking effect; that was evident in the Jotun's eyes that were brimming with pain. The god finally started to settle, slowly going limp against the restraints. He knelt down next to Loki with a sadness in his eyes, not even looking up as the door slammed shut. Suddenly it didn't seem worth it to follow through with his orders. The death was supposed to be quick. He had enough poison in the syringe to kill ten gods but thanks to Loki's reaction he had barely gotten enough in the Jotun's body to kill him.

About a minute later, Bruce returned with a water bottle full of black liquid. Charcoal. Nate had to hand it to the scientist; he certainly knew what to do under pressure.

"I don't think you realize who you're dealing with," Bruce growled, "He's not human."

Nate laughed aloud, "I think I know who I'm dealing with, thanks."  _I invented the poison that's killing him, after all._

Bruce said nothing, and instead tipped Loki's head up. Nate stood up to watch, his curiosity wondering if activated charcoal would even work. Charcoal was an amazing absorber, and was commonly used for situations just like this. On humans. The black liquid met the Jotun's lips and Loki tried to turn away but Banner forced his head to stay in place. Black dribbled down the god's chin, but Nate saw that he was swallowing some of it. Bruce shifted, blocking his view.

"Why are you helping him?" Nate asked suddenly, now that he could no longer see Loki's face. "Didn't he try to kill you guys?"

"Yes, he did," Bruce answered, pulling the bottle away. Loki spat venomously, coughing up some of the solution. "But I've done the same thing. " The scientist paused. "I think you should go."

Before Nate had time to snap a reply, Loki's face was brought into light again. He gasped, drawing away at the sight. A side of the god's face was the soft blue color, but what caused his reaction was the flaming red eye that stared back at him, pupil pricked and full of rage. It was like locking eyes with Satan himself. The charcoal had evidently done its work, as only one part of Loki's face was…possessed by whatever creature was being revealed. Blue covered roughly a fourth of the prince's face as though someone had messily dabbled a paintbrush up from the left side of his jawbone. He looked absolutely hideous, not to mention terrifying. The snarl that curled at Loki's lips was only half human as the god lunged, but was caught by his restraints just before he could reach the young doctor.

"Look what you've done. You've brought out the monster," Loki hissed, moving dangerously close to Nate's face. The god's red eye glowed even in the shadow of his brow, sending shots of fear-induced adrenaline down his spine. As if Loki were a tiger inspecting a fresh kill. "A mistake I intend to see that you pay for.  _Dearly_." Nate barely had time to process the words before vibrant green filled his vision. He was dead before he hit the ground.


	17. Chapter 17

Bruce had seen enough death in his life to know that the doctor was not going to get up. A pained looked crossed the scientist's face, and he found himself lost as to what to do. This man, extremely young for a doctor, was dead. A whole life ahead of him, and judging from the fact that he was one of the head medical examiners at S.H.I.E.L.D., his future had been bright. All of that was gone now, thanks to Loki. The god was still livid, thrashing against the restraints as though killing someone was as meaningless as swatting a fly. Bruce just couldn't understand how Thor, the loyal, good-natured god of thunder, could be related to this insane, deceitful being. Even more unbelievable was that Thor was convinced that Loki could somehow be changed. Evil seemed to be ingrained in Loki's every move. Yet, Bruce could not find the hatred towards the god that everyone else did.

A sharp jolt rattled through his body, and for a split second he thought that the god had decided to take him out next. His eyes squeezed shut, but slowly reopened as he recognized the familiarity of the feeling. It was not Loki; it was the monster inside him trying to claw its way out. The severity of the situation had finally caught up to the Hulk, and he, as usual, was not happy about it. And for good reason too, Loki was not exactly being calm. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to quell the building pressure in his chest.

"Whoa," he held up his hands and turned his head away. Maybe if he wasn't looking at the problem, the Other Guy would settle. "I'm gonna need you to stop, unless you want a visit from the Other Guy." He was banking on the fact that Loki remembered what had happened last time they had met.

"I have no fear of your _curse_ ," Loki hissed, though he stopped struggling as loudly.

"Of course not," Bruce sighed. The tension eased slightly in his chest, and with a few deep breaths it was nearly gone. He stepped to Loki's side and looked to the ceiling as he tugged at one of the wires. "I'd think a god would be strong enough to tear right through these things," he muttered with a hint of a smile.

Loki yanked his unaffected arm in response, and the metal brace at the ceiling bent. "It would be easier if I didn't have poison in my veins," the god snapped.

Ah yes, the poison. The cause of this whole commotion. The doctor had said it was only morphine, but morphine was usually injected via a drip, not a syringe. When he had previously worked on Loki after the incident in the lab, the drugs he had used were just as serious as morphine, but they had not affected the god in this way at all. Poison was the only thing he could think of that could have caused it. He cocked his head. "But Thor isn't affected by sickness, and I've seen him drink more alcohol than anyone should be able to survive. How can you get poisoned?"

"If I knew, do you think I would have let that fool inject me with something?" Loki's eyes flashed dangerously, "And do you think I would tell you if I did?"

The scientist shrugged, then began to disconnect the cords from the god's body. He glanced back to the doctor, who remained slumped on the floor and quickly looked away again as an eerie feeling washed over him. Under any other circumstances he would have seen to it to get help for the dead man, but leaving Loki alone to do so could mean more deaths.

As he came up to undo the clasp around the blue expanse of the poisoned arm, he drew his hand away in shock. The metal was freezing cold, almost painful to touch. Loki's different-colored eyes flickered with something he couldn't place.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting—"

"Silence! Unchain me," Loki snarled, jerking his arm.

"Fine, fine. Just keep calm." The command was more for him, but the god relaxed ever so slightly as he fiddled with the clasp. When the metal bracing snapped open, Loki quickly pulled his arm away, flexing his hand as though it might make the blue go away. He was intensely focused on his palm, so much so that Bruce suspected there was magic involved. But the hand remained blue.

"Has this happened before?" Bruce asked quietly.

Loki snapped from his stupor, his red eye blazing furiously at him. " _Unchain me_."

Gradually the god was freed from the wires, and when the final chord was loosened, Bruce stepped back, making sure to block the door. Loki watched carefully form the floor, a sly smirk beginning on his face.

"If I had wanted to escape, I would have done so already."

"Something tells me you can't escape, you know, considering you couldn't even get out of a few wires." That didn't sit well with the dark-haired god as he stood.

"You have no idea of—" His legs buckled and he fell to the floor with a look of surprise. Bruce instinctively reached out a hand, catching him before he hit the ground.

"Maybe you should wait until that poison wears off before you start trying to intimidate me," the scientist chuckled.

Loki gritted his teeth in a snarl and Bruce didn't have time to think before the god threw him back, propelling both of them in opposite directions. Luckily, Bruce didn't collide with anything, though he did double over as he desperately tried to contain the Other Guy again. Loki, on the other hand, fell against the operating table that he had kicked away earlier and grunted in pain as he slid to the floor.

The Other Guy finally calmed down again, though Bruce didn't think he would last through another outburst. Keeping his distance would probably be the best option.

"Do you know what this is?" he fumbled in his pocket before pulling out the vial of poison. Loki said nothing. He tossed the vial and the god caught it in his blue hand. He lifted it closer to his face and shut one eye. A shiver ran down the scientist's spine as he looked into the flaming red iris that remained. Loki dipped a finger into the solution after undoing the cap and lifted it to his tongue.

"Hey, that's probably not the best id—" he paused as a look of understanding came across the god's face. Then it turned to darkness and hatred.

"Jormungandr…" Loki murmured darkly.

"Sorry, what?" Bruce asked.

Loki ignored his question and leveled his eyes at him. "I need to speak with my broth—with Thor."

The scientist laughed, "Yeah, okay. It's not like you tried to kill him or anything. Sorry, Loki, but you aren't exactly on the good-guy list anymore."

A brief flash of something that looked like pain crossed Loki's face, but it was gone before he had any time to register it. Instead he saw livid hatred. And for some reason, that made Bruce frustrated. Frustrated that Loki didn't seem to have even remembered ripping Thor's leg open after beating him to a pulp, and then, when he was brought back by the necklace, he proceeded in pummeling his brother again. After all, Thor had to go through with Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. to allow Loki to stay at headquarters, all the door smashing and shouting. Thor had been willing to let Loki kill him without even putting up a fight, and here he was, lying on the floor covered in stitches, poisoned, yet all he could think about was his hatred for the only person that cared about him at all. "How could you bring yourself to that level?" Bruce blurted out suddenly, "How could you know that Thor was trying to save you from Conquest, trying to save your life, and then try and murder him?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Loki's lips tugged into a bemused smile.

Bruce's nostrils flared as he crouched to lean into the god's face. So much for keeping his distance. "It was the horsemen, wasn't it?"

No response, not even a flicker of emotion.

"It  _was_  them, wasn't it? I hope they promised you something good. I hope it was worth it," his hands subconsciously curled into fists. "You know, Tony told me not to even let you come here, but I talked him out of it. I thought you needed a second chance. I could understand the 'everybody hates me' thing. I can understand what's it's like to be in a room full of people you don't even know and they all want you dead. You've got issues, I get it," he got close enough to smell the charcoal residue that had dribbled down Loki's chin. "But you have no excuse to take it out on  _him._ He's up there, half-dead, because he cared about you too much to kill you."

The trickster ran his tongue along his lips, returning the glare full-force. "Then he is a fool."

Bruce had to turn away before he let himself punch Loki right across the face. Second chances would do nothing; a million chances at redemption would do nothing. He stared at his reflection in the glass window of the operating room, every disheveled, ash-covered feature.

"Do you ever think about the monster inside of you?" the god's chilled voice finally broke the silence and made him grit his teeth. "Or how, when you walk down a path, you imagine what the passerby might say if they saw your true form?" He saw Loki's reflection in the glass, though he knew it was an illusion, given that it was in full battle dress, horned helmet gleaming in the white light. "And what of your friends? Those closest to you?" he paused, "You imagine the horror on their faces, the pure disgust, if they should happen to find out."

"Nice try. They all know what—who, I am," Bruce replied with a snort.

Loki's illusion blinked, a small smirk appearing on its lips, "Ah yes. But that is quite different than seeing you. Watching you breathe, wondering what demon has consumed the form of the one they claimed to love." It turned; eyes alight with a hungry green flame. "They will balk at the sight of you, curl their lips in distaste, as though you could have prevented it." Loki's smile widened, "Or the worst of all, they do nothing. They only stare. Stare and pretend as though they accept you, when you know they do not." The hollow form leaned closer, "They _detest_ you. Even the others in this ramshackle band of warriors." Bruce's lip twitched.  _He's lying. He's the god of lies, so of course he's lying._ Even so, the words still bit at him as though they were truth. "Or did you not see it?"

Knowing it was only an illusion, the scientist swung a punch and the Loki in front of him disappeared in a cloud of gold dust. He turned to the real Loki, who sat staring up at him with a cold smile.

"You're trying to make me hate you. I don't know why, but it's probably not going to work," he said with a shrug, trying to fight down how much the words had hurt him. The searing tone of the trickster's voice was still wringing him from the inside out, as though he were speaking from his pitch-black heart.

Loki's grin soured quickly. "Do not try to make me think you enjoy my presence, giant."

Bruce laughed, "No, I don't. I don't even like you all that much, but I empathize with you."

The god scoffed, "I certainly do not need your worthless empathy."

But Bruce knew he did. Ever since he saw that look of fear in Loki's eyes when he had first appeared during their briefing. Something had changed since his last visit to earth, though Bruce couldn't put a finger on exactly what. It was something good, and that was all that mattered. So even if Loki threw away his chances and cast them all into the fire along with every relationship on this planet, that look had something that manifested into…well, the closest word he could think of was hope.

"I'll bring Thor to see you in the holding cell. Later," his gaze flicked to the blue arm, "When you clear up. Assuming you will." He flashed a small smile. "Until then," he pulled out a tablet and quickly typed up a short summary of what the current situation was. Once finished, he repocketed the tablet and moved back to lean against the door. "You aren't going anywhere."

* * *

On the floor above, the air was just as tense. A flurry of agents, doctors, nurses, and S.H.I.E.L.D staff were dashing through the halls in an intricate array of suits and scrubs. All was centered around one room that held a god and a man who had come through time. Both were close to death and no one seemed to know what to do about it. At least, that's what it looked like from the observation window where Tony and Natasha were watching intently. A particular buzz surrounded Thor and Tony could only guess it was because no one knew what the heck was going on inside that alien body of his. Bruce should have been in there, but the scientist was nowhere to be found. So all they could do was stand there like idiots and watched the doctors do their work.

"How much longer can they possibly take? Aren't these supposed to be the best doctors in the world?" Tony growled in frustration. Natasha sighed.

"Give them a break, neither of their patients are your normal human."

"Whatever, I'm gonna stop funding this program if they can't get it together."

The spy laughed lightly, but Tony wasn't dumb enough to think it was real. "Tony, you don't fund S.H.I.E.L.D projects. They file under weapons, remember?"

"Fine. I'll give them a hefty donation and then take it away," he retorted, watching between the shoulders of the doctors huddled around Steve.

"They'll be fine," Natasha murmured, following his gaze.

"Is that something they tell you to say in spy school?" He felt a bit bad about his sharp reply, but he knew she could handle it. It wasn't Clint in there, after all. Maybe if it was, she would be a little more concerned and less motherly. Motherly. Not a word for Natasha Romanoff.

"Hey," Clint appeared beside them. Speak of the devil. Well, more like think of the devil.

"About time you showed up," Tony grumbled, looking back to the room full of doctors.

"Fury said I was needed up here," the archer replied tartly. "I was helping with Loki."

"Oh, great. Because you've always cared so much about  _Loki_ ," Tony growled.

"Hey, I shot Thor's brother with four arrows. And if I remember correctly, it was you who said not to kill him—"

"Only because Thor was going to go have a meltdown! Don't you dare think that I care abo—"

"You were worried about Thor having a meltdown? Please," Clint rolled his eyes, stepping in front of Natasha and getting in Tony's personal space.

"Yeah, so what if I was? Do you have a problem with me wanting to preserve the life of the god of thunder's only sibling?" the billionaire cocked his head like the smartass he was, perfectly happy getting right up in Clint's face. Come to think of it, he had been itching for a fight without the suit. So if Hawkeye wanted a fight, he was going to get one hell of a fight.

"He's not a human, Stark, I doubt he even has a soul. Don't you dare think that I wouldn't hesitate to kill him in a heartbeat," Clint snarled.

"Then why didn't you?"

"What are you even arguing? You just said you didn't want him dead, and now you're asking me why I didn't have the guts to do it!" Tony stumbled backward as the archer gave him a forceful shove. "I was following orders. Your orders."

The billionaire gritted his teeth and shoved right back, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Okay then, Ella Enchanted, I  _order_ you to try and hit me. "

A smirk appeared on Clint's face, and Tony was suddenly aware that he was actually going to get punched in the face. He saw the tension shoot up the other man's arm as his hand clenched into a fist, and with lightning speed that same fist was coming right for his face. His nerves began to fire as he started to dodge, but instead he saw an elbow slam into the crook of Clint's arm and before he knew what was happening there was a hand at his collar and he was suddenly way to close to the archer's face. Natasha was the culprit, and glared at them both.

"You're lucky I'm not Bruce, or I'd have put the both of you in the next room." She readjusted her iron grip that was making Tony begin to see stars and jerked them closer until Tony was breathing Clint's air. Disgusting. "Apologize," she demanded.

"Okay, okay, I apologize." Natasha gave him another jerk. "I said I apologize!" the billionaire snapped.

"I'm sorry for listening to you—" Clint's apology was cut short by a sharp knee to the chest from his partner.

Tony grinned, raising a brow. " I couldn't quite hear you, what was that?"

"I said I'm sorry," the archer said sourly and they were both freed.

"No more fighting, we've got people down. Our guys. They need us." Her somber tone quieted the defiant anger in Tony's chest. But he kept his amused smirk, because he couldn't have her knowing that.

A nurse cleared her throat, and all three Avengers turned to face her. "Excuse me, but there's a problem downstairs with…uh, Loki?"

Clint's eyes flashed and he looked back to his partner.

"Go handle it, we'll stay up here. Call if you need us," Natasha nodded to him and the archer headed off with the nurse.

"And don't kill him! I mean it!" Tony called after him. Clint turned, but a good-natured smile appeared on his face before vanishing behind a corner.

"So now what?" Natasha asked, returning to her spot by the window. She seemed awfully interested in Thor's condition for a spy who wasn't supposed to care about anything. Tony moved beside her, watching as an obscene amount of liquid was dumped on Steve's burn.

"Haven't you ever seen a soap opera before?" he lightly pressed his fingers to the glass, allowing a frown to settle on his lips. "We sit here looking worried. And we wait until Dr. Handsome comes out and gives us the bad news."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> updates might be a little less frequent now that school is starting, but don't worry, I'm not leaving this story, I've got everything plotted out and it just needs writing. 
> 
> enjoy, and thank you for all of your comments, bookmarks, subscriptions, everything! i'm so sjdfkajfbakj, thank you!

It was dark. Dark, but not black. More of a navy blue, thanks to the light that bled from the various monitors and equipment around him. Waking up in a hospital room should not have been strange to him anymore, unless it was a horribly disguised one like where he had woken up in many months ago. There were no tricks this time, only stillness and the sound of his breathing. Steve's pupils expanded as he blinked fully awake, slowly gaining better night vision to make out the space around him. All of the machines around him had no labels in his head, no names that he knew to call them except cords and tubing. Tiny green and red and yellow lights blinked at him occasionally, and a screen showed what had to be his heartbeat. He took a breath, testing his lungs, and felt a dull pain in his side at the expansion of his chest. His blue eyes traveled down to find his chest bare, save for a giant quilt square of gauze covering the source of the pain.

The memories came back to him like a crushing wave, dragging him across every painful, hate-filled word he had spewed at Tony, all the way back to when he had been used as bait to draw in Loki. That memory was particularly sharp, as Conquest had left him fully conscious for that before ripping his mind away again. Before she had taken him under her spell again, he had seen the horrible scene that she had created for the god of mischief. If anyone had ever done that to him and Bucky in the war…he was not sure if he would have been able to hold on during Conquest's reign over his body. Steve shifted, watching his wound as he did so. A shockwave of pain rang through him and he grimaced. It would probably be another few hours until he healed enough to properly move without pain.

Something shifted in the darkness, and Steve jumped, sending another slice of pain through his ribs. He instinctively looked for his shield, but realized that was a pretty stupid thing to do. Hospitals didn't exactly leave weapons lying around, especially if this was a S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital. Whatever it was, it would have attacked him by now if it was hostile. He swallowed and turned his head to look into the gloom. The hospital room wasn't that big, but he could see the leg of a couch in the thin shaft of light from under the door. Another shift, and a new light came, half exposed. Tony's arc reactor. The glowing blue thing that kept him alive. He smiled weakly at the notion that Tony was sleeping at his bedside, after everything. Overshadowing that, however, was the grim remembrance that the arc reactor had been his target when facing his friend.

The blue light illuminated Tony's face every so slightly, and the billionaire looked troubled, even in sleep. Steve tried to move again, but the pain cut through him anew. A grunt escaped his throat this time, and his heartbeat monitor beeped in a tone that seemed to shake the whole hospital. Tony's eyes flicked open at once, and he snorted loudly as he fought against the blanket that he was wrapped in. He fell to the floor with a thud and Steve had to stop himself from laughing.

"Dammit, Steve," Tony's voice was groggy with sleep.

"Hey there," he replied with a chuckle that made his ribs hurt.

"You're a real idiot, you know that? I got stuck on guard duty, all the doctors are scared of you," Stark said tartly, getting back on the couch. Steve rolled his eyes, but knew Tony couldn't see it.

"Well, thanks for pulling 'guard duty' then." He looked back to the door, wondering for a moment if it was true. Tony was always one for sarcasm and joking around, but sometimes he joked around the truth. Steve hoped that the doctors being afraid of him was just something he had said out of tiredness. Or something. Still, he picked through why they might be afraid, and could only think that it was because they didn't believe that Conquest was truly gone. He didn't quite believe it either, though he couldn't feel her presence like he had before. Back in the tavern when he had stupidly sat down for that drink, he had felt something the moment she had touched him, but had disregarded it immediately. Now though, he knew that it was the transfer of power. Even when she had released her hold on him after beating him to a pulp to bait Loki, he could still been that she was behind the scenes, though he had full control of himself.

Steve tried to see if he could feel her now, but nothing happened. The necklace had been taken off and turned into a part of his hospital wristband. A stinging sensation on the back of his neck indicated that he had probably tried to tear it off in his fit of pain and cut the nape of his neck. Guilt lanced through him as he remembered saying that he had hated Tony. That wasn't true. But then why did he say it? He shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry—"

"—you need anything?"

They spoke at the same time, and both men stopped in their tracks. Tony brought a hand to his temple.

"Uh, I was saying, do you need anything? You look kinda…awful."

Steve cocked an eyebrow in the darkness. That was unusual, Tony wasn't exactly the chicken-soup bringing type. He realized it must be because he felt bad about what had happened, though Steve should be the one doing that.

"No, I'm fine, " he paused, "Look, I'm really sorry. For everything. The stuff I said back there, everything." He couldn't even look in Tony's direction he was so ashamed of what he had done.

"What, back there at Smokey's worst nightmare?" The billionaire scoffed, "Come on, what were you supposed to say after I blasted you? 'I love you, Tony, you're the best?'" he laughed, "Sorry, Capsicle, but I'm not gonna talk to you about this. It's over. Done."

Steve swallowed. "I'm still sorry. I didn't mean any of it, you know."

Tony chuckled, but it didn't sound completely happy. Then again, he realized, it never did. "Obviously. I mean, nobody hates Tony Stark , though Hammertime probably will when he figures out what happened." Steve cocked his head, and evidently Tony could see it in the darkness as he continued; "Oh, yeah, I guess you were kinda blacked out for that whole thing. Long story short, Loki pretty much beat Thor to death, then when Goldilocks got him necklaced, Loki beat the crap out of him again. Then—"

"Wait," Steve interrupted, "Loki tried to kill Thor after Conquest wasn't possessing him anymore?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what I just said five seconds ago."

The Captain blinked. That didn't sound right, not after what he had heard back in the swamp.  _"You only trust one person in the universe, the brother who still loved you through all you had done to wrong him…"_ Conquest wasn't a liar, and she had played off of their weaknesses. Thor was Loki's one weakness, Steve knew that by the look he had seen in the trickster's eyes when Thor had been "killed." So it didn't explain why Loki would try and kill his brother even after he was outside of the effects of Conquest. A distant memory tickled his mind, a secondhand scene that he couldn't place. There was cold, and he could see a shadowy figure that looked like Loki, but War's voice was in his head, " _Fulfill this dream."_  Steve shook his head, he didn't even know where that memory was coming from, or even if it was a memory at all. "Are you sure?" he finally asked.

"No, I must've just been imagining Loki hold a magical scythe to his brother's throat," Tony quipped sarcastically. Then a tired sigh came from his lips, "Anyway, Clint was too much of a coward to kill him, so we brought Rock of Ages back here. Ten minutes later and he went psycho and killed a doctor." There was a pause, and Steve looked over with concern in his eyes. "Young guy, kinda like me. Except probably worth a couple billion less, and he probably didn't own one of the most successful companies in America." Tony exhaled. "But yeah. So Loki's caged upstairs. We're keeping Thunderboy down here until…well, until we can't stop him from going up."

"That's a good idea," Steve replied absently, still wondering why Loki would do such a thing. Tony shifted on the couch, and the blue light of his reactor was covered again.

"Unless you want something, I'm going to sleep," the billionaire announced, voice muffled by the armrest. "I'm sure Eyepatch will debrief you in the morning, or whatever you two call it. "

The Captain frowned. He didn't really feel like going to sleep, he wanted to find out everything that had happened in detail, not just what Tony's view was. They weren't done yet either, that was the worst part of the whole situation. War and Conquest hadn't mentioned it, but Death was coming. Maybe not right now, but sooner or later they would need to deal with the most difficult horseman of them all. But Steve was weak, and he couldn't so much as stand up yet. After a good night's sleep maybe, but not right now. Tony's deep breathing soon filled the hospital room, evidently sleeping more soundly now that he knew the Captain was okay, and Steve gingerly moved himself in the most comfortable position he could find before dropping into a restless sleep.

* * *

Natasha, on the other hand, got no sleep at all. She was used to it, staying up for days on end to watch targets of being in an area too dangerous to even nap in. She stood at the doorway to Thor's hospital room and watched the thunderer with guarded eyes. He was awake, but not exactly conscious. The doctors said they couldn't tell how much pain he was in, or if he was feeling pain at all. They were not allowed to use numbing medicines in him because some doctor had said that it would halt his body's natural healing system. Natasha wasn't too sure of that. Her opinion didn't matter though, and Thor was left with an IV bag hooked into his arm and reinforced metal braces to keep him still should he start into angry spasms.

He sat in the hospital bed, well, its current positioning made it more of a recliner, and he just stared at the wall. Natasha would have thought him dead if he didn't blink every so often, blue eyes entranced at whatever he was seeing in his head. Probably something to do with Loki, she guessed. Though she would never admit it, she felt bad for him. Natasha had never had any siblings (that she knew of), but she could only guess it was the equivalent of having a longtime partner betray you. To a spy, betrayal was always lingering in the back of the mind, but even she could not say that she would ever expect Clint to do something like that. He had gone against orders to save her life, something most partners could not claim to have done. So in that sense, she could get a feel of how badly it must have hurt to be nearly murdered by your brother. Though, if Loki were her brother she would have done away with him already.

Enough sedative had been pumped into Thor's system to kill a small army, but nothing had worked. He sat through every injection with the same blank look and tired lifeless eyes. She had tried talking to him around midnight, but he had done nothing to show that he even knew she was there, though he did blink when she told him Loki was still alive. The night had wore on, and here she stood, watching for any movement or change in his emotion.

Clint checked in occasionally, updating her about Loki, Steve, and Bruce. S.H.I.E.L.D. was working with Banner to make a hybrid of the gamma radiation trackers to work for the horsemen, well, to work for finding Death. Natasha wasn't so sure the last horseman would even show now that his brothers and sister were dead. She absently reached up to thumb the gold sword pendant at her neck, her prize from finally killing that sorry War bastard. Tony had tried taking it from her after the fight and she only stopped from giving him a black eye when had groaned in apparent pain. They had taken heavy losses, Steve and Thor were incredibly vital to the team in terms of skill and ability. They all had to be in place by the time Death showed up, she knew that much.

Early morning light began to filter in through the tiny window of the room and Natasha sighed, moving to sit on the edge of Thor's bed. He did nothing, as usual.

She looked at the floor, counting the tiles absently as she tried to find something to say. Nothing came. Nothing comforting anyway. She had a hard time consoling anyone, considering that she thought it was a weak flaw to have. It was basically just lying in a nice way. It didn't go over well to say that it probably wasn't going to be okay or that they probably weren't in a better place, people just spoke like that to feed other's damaged egos or whatever.

"I know I already told you this, but Loki isn't dead." Her voice broke the silence, but Thor did nothing to respond. "He's upstairs right now. Fury even got him a new muzzle." She cracked a light smile, but it vanished quickly. A muzzle probably wouldn't contain Loki for very long, nor would his cage. They still had no idea of his full magical capabilities, and he was in better shape since going back home, so there was no telling if he was just staying there to craft his plan of attack. Which was entirely likely.

Bruce had said that Loki wanted to see Thor, but the rest of them had refused to let that happen. The effect would probably be the same as putting a rabid dog in a cage with an old collie. After all, Thor hadn't bothered to put up a fight against Loki before, so she doubted he would do it now.

"Well, I'm assuming that we're going out on some sort of mission in a few hours, so I should probably get this out there." She looked back to the door, not even keeping Thor in her peripherals. "I never got to thank you for saving my life in the helicarrier. I'm not too proud to say I wasn't going to die if you hadn't shown up. So…thank you," she said with a level voice. She swallowed, and lifted her head. "I hope you and Loki can work things out. Or you can at least put him in prison somewhere else so I don't have to kill him for what he did to you." Damn, she should have left it at thank you, now she was starting to sound like a sappy new recruit.

"Thank you." The low rumble nearly made her jump. She turned, and Thor was still in the same position, but his eyes were on her.

"Glad to see you're conscious," she greeted with a faint smile on her lips. "And you don't have to thank me for anything,. Like I sai-"

"You could have killed him, but you did not. " Thor's voice was somber, but it had a twinge of true gratitude therein.

"Then you should talk to Clint, he shot him, not me." Her tone was bitter now, she didn't want to have any more of this touchy-feely anything.

"Is Loki well?"

 _That's better,_ she thought with a sigh. "Yes, Thor. He's fine."

Thor nodded curtly, looking to the floor before speaking again, "Does he still wish to see me dead?"

Natasha swallowed. The answer was probably yes, and she wasn't sure if that would ever change. "I don't know." She couldn't do it, she couldn't lie to him. Not now, when everything was so close to being normal. Thor frowned, seeing through her neutral comment. "He wants to see you though," she offered, and regretted it instantly. Thor's eyes brightened far too much for her liking.

"He does?" The question was just as excited.

"Thor, you can't see him," she shot him down immediately. "He could have a trap in place."

"Did you ever think that perhaps he wanted to apologize to me?" Thor returned in a low growl. Natasha felt her stomach clench at his blind hope in his brother.  _"He keeps watching the door, and not in a good way."_  Clint's voice echoed in her head.

"He killed a doctor here when we first arrived. I hate to say it, but your brother isn't good, Thor. Don't you think that if he loved you—if he even  _liked_  you, that he wouldn't have tried to kill you even after being shot with a few arrows?" she snarled, fed up with the stupidity of Thor's blindness. "People who are only half-committed to killing someone would stop at the first arrow. People who  _thought_  they were committed to killing someone probably would have stopped at the third arrow. Loki got shot with four. That means he wanted to kill you with everything he had. Can you  _really_  not see that?"

It was too harsh, she knew. Thor's eyes filled with deep pain and he looked to his hands. Natasha could see a long scar on his neck even through his blond mane, what looked like a permanent reminder of what Loki had done. A dreadful silence filled the room again, and then a sharp knock sounded against the entryway. Both spy and Aesir turned to look. Tony stood in the doorway with a dull smile. Steve was standing stiffly beside him, wearing a hospital gown and holding a hand to his stomach.

"Family meeting," Tony announced. "We found Death. Better yet, we found three."


	19. Chapter 19

Basically, they were all screwed. That was Tony's thinking anyway. None of the Avengers were at full capacity. They were all tired or hurt or crazy and tied up in a cage upstairs. Emotionally, everyone was a train wreck. Bruce was fussing over Loki, claiming someone had poisoned him. At first Tony had been a little worried about that, but then he realized that he probably would have tried to poison Loki too if he had gotten him in such a weak state. As usual though, Snakeboy refused to die. So there was that problem; they had a living, breathing alien right above their heads, one that had magical abilities and probably knew a bit more about escape than he should. S.H.I.E.L.D promised that they had it under control, but no one believed that load of BS. Well, maybe Thor did, but he was easy to convince.

Still, they looked like a band of homeless zombie people as they walked (though Steve hobbled) down the hall to the new-and-improved briefing room. Thor was rubbing his wrists where he had been clamped to his hospital bed and Natasha looked jittery and ravenous from lack of sleep. Tony wasn't feeling so hot either, his sleep had been restless and a couch was not the same as his memory foam mattress. Hell, his desk chair was more comfortable than that sofa. He massaged his neck absentmindedly, trying to soothe the knots and tight muscles.

He yawned loudly as they they entered the room, and he could hear the sigh of relief from Steve when he noticed that the far wall was actually a giant window. Tony had to admit that it made the place feel a little more homey. If that was possible. And that was probably the reason they had moved from the other room. The memories there were mostly unpleasant. This horsemen thing had turned into much more of a mess than any of them anticipated, and going back there would just degrade them even more than they already had been.

"Morning, Neo," Tony greeted with a sarcastic smile, cocking a brow at Fury's black leather trenchcoat. Nick did not look pleased. He looked a lot older too. Tony swore he saw streaks of grey in the stubble on that big bald head of his.

"Take a seat," the director said tiredly.

Bruce and Clint were already sitting at the table and Tony's spirits were further sapped by the way Bruce's eyelids were drooping and Clint's eyes were rimmed with red. They were all running on empty, and now Death had decided to show up to kick them while they were down. Smart move.

He found a chair and flopped into it, swishing back and forth. He drummed his fingers on the plastic armrests and tried to think of something to say to break the ice, bring some life into the group. But he found that he was too tired, and for once he stayed quiet. Nick seemed to notice this, and kept his dark brown eyes trained on the billionaire as though he was going to try something. Tony held his stare and slid his tongue out halfway before biting it with his teeth. Like those stupid cat videos. Fury's eyes narrowed, but he looked away again.

Once everyone had settled, which took considerably longer than usual, the director cleared his throat.

"Thanks to the help of Dr. Banner, we have—"

"And Stark Industries," Tony interrupted. Nick shot him a glare and the billionaire cocked his head with a smirk.

Nick began again, "Thanks to the help of Dr. Banner and Stark Industries, we have created a way to search for horseman radiation. This morning we found three hits. " Natasha glanced at Clint, but the archer was busy keeping his eyes open by focusing on a dust particle so intensely that Tony thought it might spontaneously combust.

"Two of these hot spots are in highly public areas, and therefore they are most at risk. We will send you there first," Nick scanned for reactions, but there was little more than a stifled cough from Steve. The director sighed loudly. "The first spot is Churchill Downs. Heavily populated, and the perfect place for a horseman to blend in. Thousands visit the racetrack each day, and on race days there can be upwards of fifty thousand, depending on the race. "

"Wait, that's where the Derby is held, right?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, and believe me Cap, it's changed since the forties. Kim Kardashian showed up last year," Tony grumbled with a roll of his eyes.

"Who is—"

" _And_  she started trying to drink my Mint Julep. I had that bourbon custom shipped for my VIP lounge."

"Tony, shut up," Natasha snapped tiredly. "What were you saying, Steve?"

Tony continued anyway, "Sixteen-year old A. H. Hirsch Reserve. Not cheap. And I was planning on drinking—"

"Tony, please," Bruce murmured, rubbing his temple. The billionaire finally quieted, though he continued mumbling curses under his breath.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I didn't really have anything to say about it, I just...Quite frankly I thought the Kentucky Derby would have ended by now, that's all. Sorry."

Nick shook his head, "It's fine, Cap. I thought maybe you'd watched the news."

Everyone looked up, even Clint. "A horse has taken the world by storm. Interesting, considering that not many people do much more than watch the Kentucky Derby as an excuse to drink these days. There hasn't been a Triple Crown winner in years. Thing is, this horse isn't all that fast."

"Okay, I could have told you that. Secretariat: best thoroughbred of all time. You don't touch that horse."

"Seabiscuit." Steve countered.

"Seabiscuit is dead."

"So is Secretariat, Tony," Bruce said with a sigh.

The billionaire scowled, "Well Secretariat got buried whole. I bet Death couldn't raise up Seabiscuit's head and hooves to stalk the Earth."

"Anyway," Nick cut in, but there was a tiny bit of a smile on his lips that quickly soured as he began to speak. "This horse is owned by one of the most powerful racing stables in the country. Bedlington Hollow is a company that either picks the best right from the start or they throw millions to get the horses they want. Pedigrees are more important than winning races to them; which brings us to our strange horse.

"This horse has no record of purchase or pedigree, and apparently enough racing officials have been paid off to allow the horse to compete despite its lack of records. Interestingly enough, the horse is a palomino."

"Like Trigger?" Steve chimed in again.

"What did you  _do_  when you were little, stalk horses or something?" Tony said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, like Trigger," Nick replied with a sigh as the Captain awkwardly looked away. "A very light palomino, a color that could be described as pale."

"The horseman!" Natasha hissed. "Death rides a pale horse. You think this is Death's horse in these races?"

The director gave a sly smile, "I haven't even gotten to the good part yet. If the horse is beaten in a race, the horses that beat it die within twenty-four hours. Different causes, sickness, heart attacks, one even died from getting stabbed with a pitchfork. Bedlington continued to race him despite this, and the horse has gained an international following as the Haunted Horse. "

Tony suddenly burst out laughing, and all eyes turned to the billionaire. He dropped his phone to the desk as he tried to recover.

"Its name, oh god this is too much, it's name is Notheadlessyet."

A murmur of nervous laughter filled the room, but the truth finally sunk in. They were truly dealing with Death, and he (or she) seemed to be taunting them openly. Even Thor knew that sounded like a trap. Tony cleared his throat and his grin sobered to a near frown.

"So what about the other spot?" Bruce asked before the billionaire could speak.

"There's been criminal activity in Flint, Michigan for decades. It used to be a town that was living the high life thanks to General Motors. When the company relocated, the city was lost. Unemployment is over twenty percent, and crime rates are higher here than anywhere else in the country," Nick replied, looking to each of the Avengers before continuing. "Crime rings are taking interest, given that the police force is being cut back every couple of years or so. Dog fightings and arms dealing are the two most popular criminal activities here. A little different than when you were around, Cap."

Steve nodded grimly. "Sure, I remember when the Sit-Down Strike made national news. Flint wasn't anything special back then, at least, I didn't really hear about it much, but it was an up and coming place."

"Yeah that's great, Steve nostalgia time – woohoo," Tony waved his hands in mock enthusiasm. "But the real question is: why in hell does Death want to deal in Flint, Michigan? I mean, come on, if you're gonna kill people why not go big?" It really didn't make sense. Death was supposed to be the big shot horseman, the Grim Reaper was based off of him, actually most people associated him as  _being_  the Grim Reaper. If Flint was wiped out, it would probably take the media a good three days to even notice, the city was such a dump. He'd seen the lists of the worst cities in America, and Flint's only award in the cabinet was being number one for a good decade running.

"That's exactly what we're trying to figure out. We aren't going in this at full throttle, last time that didn't end so well for us," Nick said sourly, glancing to Steve and Thor. The thunderer had said nothing so far, but he watched with a cool expression as the discussion continued. The guy was probably still pissed about his brother. Tony wouldn't even pretend to have sympathy for that.

"This will be a covert operation. No violence unless absolutely necessary. We don't even know what Death looks like, and that's what we're trying to find out. We need a description, picture, anything. We need to know how to find him, what shoes he likes to wear, what the deal is with his horse, and why a third hotspot shows on the map."

"Has anyone died yet?" Clint murmured, asking the question that had been lingering in everyone's mind since the start of this conversation.

"A dozen horses or so, one jockey, though it is unconfirmed that Death had any part in that. Other than those, no human deaths that we know of. Flint is a bit more difficult; people die almost every day and we can't tell if its Death or just criminal activity," the director replied flatly.

"We've got to keep in mind that Death has more power than the rest of the horsemen," Natasha warned. "According to the Bible he has power over 'a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth."

"So basically, he hasn't started rolling yet," Tony clarified with a twitch of his lips. He then rolled his eyes dramatically, "What is this guy even doing? No deaths, no plague no famine and no wild beasts. How do we even know this is actually Death?"

"Considering I built the hotspot tracker, I'd say it's pretty clear," Bruce replied, shifting his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, I'm not trying to get you green, but I'm just saying."

"That's why it's an undercover mission, Tony," Clint snapped. Oh great, now Legolas wanted another fight. Awesome.

"Undercover my ass. If I walk to Dairy Queen I get plastered on the cover of every gossip magazine this side of Wal-Mart," the billionaire retorted.

"Well, you sure are humble," Steve muttered under his breath.

"Well, you sure have a bad taste in racehorses, Blue-eyes," Tony hissed.

"Calm down," Nick growled, and they all sank back into their seats again. "Tony, Natasha, and Steve, you are heading to Churchill Downs."

Natasha fired a glare at the director, green eyes nearly burning right through Nick's eyepatch. Tony was happy with that choice, he wouldn't have done so well dealing with hoodlums in Flint anyway. And besides, it would give him a chance to drink some good booze and throw some money away. Not to mention it was an undercover spy mission, so he got to sneak around, schmooze his way through racetrack big wigs and save the world at the same time.

"I'm not really sure I should be going out so soon…" the Captain trailed off, casting a nervous glance to his rib wound.

"There won't be any rough housing, Cap. Remember, no violence unless it is essential to your survival. It's just as dangerous as sitting around here waiting for Lo—"

"Waiting for me to finish updating the locator," Bruce cut in.

"You're  _staying_?" Clint asked, cocking a brow.

"Yeah," the scientist swallowed, "I don't do so well in crowds…or with gang activity."

The director cleared his throat again, and they stopped chattering to listen. "Bruce is staying because he's needed. Clint, Thor, you two are going to Flint."

"Whoa now," the archer shook his head in disbelief, "How exactly am I supposed to get Thor—"

"The FBI has already set up a sting that they were planning to execute last evening. Given that the fate of the world rests on us, they let us take their spot. You two are going to be posing as arms dealers. You've got an appointment with the owners of the dog fighting rings and the kings of the weapons industry in Flint," Nick answered.

"Thor," Clint turned to face the thunder god, who looked up with an expression of slight surprise, "Do you know what a firearm is?"

"Of course," the Aesir boomed, "The Jotunar can summon arms of ice, I assume arms of fire would be no less difficult."

"Okay, just making sure," the archer sighed, lifting a hand to rub his temple. "How am I supposed to get through a top-notch gang meeting with  _him_?" his hissed under his breath. Thor sat back in his chair and resumed his thoughtful expression from earlier.

"I can't send you in there alone, if that's what you're asking," Nick replied bluntly.

"Then send Natasha in there with me!" the archer growled.

"She need to stay with Tony to make sure he doesn't cross the line."

"Oh, so that's the reason, huh?" Tony whistled as he leaned back in his chair. "Wow, Eyepatch, I thought you were just being nice."

Fury shot him a glare before looking back to Clint. "You'll have to make it work. I don't even like sending just the two of you in there."

Clint said nothing, but that meant agreement in Fury language. Tony sighed loudly as he stood up.

"Let's go Bomb Pop,"the billionaire tapped Steve on the shoulder. "We have a plane to catch.

"Not so fast." Nick folded his arms. Oh great, now they were going to get yelled at for leaving the dinner table without being excused. "You have all been working extremely hard. Get some rest. You'll be in public tomorrow, and you can't go around looking like…what you look like now."

The words were music to his ears. He could finally go back to his bedroom (well, S.H.I.E.L.D's replica of his bedroom) and get some proper shuteye. Every muscle in him begged for sleep, but he was used to it from long nights in the lab. The stiffness in his neck was a different story.

"Thanks," Tony muttered, and the rest of the Avengers followed suit in expressing their gratitude.

Not much was said as they left the briefing room, every movement sluggish for all of them except Thor, who waited behind. Tony knew exactly what the god was going to say before he even opened his bearded mouth.

"May I speak to my brother now?"

The whole team winced collectively, and even Fury's eye twitched funny. Everyone stopped walking. Tony wasn't so sure that Thor should go upstairs at all. Loki was the equivalent of a caged tiger at the zoo. If it really wanted to kill you, it could climb the fence. Thor might as well be a big juicy, incredibly buff antelope. As long as they kept him hidden from Loki's sight, everything would be fine for a little while longer. Even so, it had to be painful to be denied so often.

"Sorry, you're brother is off limits until we can figure out why he went after you…the second time."

Tony could almost hear the thunderer's mood go downcast. No one moved for a few moments, then Steve clapped a hand on Thor's shoulder.

"Come on, big guy. Lighten up, Loki just needs to sort things out. You can't rush that, believe me." The Captain's words somehow soothed the rest of them too, and they all started walking again, Thor included.

"He wishes for my presence," the god replied after a few steps.

"Yeah, but sometimes that isn't actually true. After I got thawed out of the ice I kept asking for people that weren't there. You're not thinking straight when you first come out of it. Come back from your mission and you'll probably be able to visit, okay?"

Tony felt a lick of envy at the way Steve so effortlessly stopped Thor from having a breakdown, evident by the rustling of cloth and the grunt from the Captain as Thor grabbed him in a bear hug. The rest of the walk was in tired silence until Tony reached his room.

He didn't even bother to change, he just kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the mattress belly first. His arc-reactor twinged painfully as it always did when he was on his stomach, but he ignored it. Never before had his bed felt so warm and inviting, the perfect way to end a crappy day.

He was asleep before he could remember to move his head to the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jahsdbsajhdbasksajdakdsj you guys are way too nice. omg these comments make me alksdalksd with happiness.


	20. Chapter 20

Steve, being Steve, could not see a positive outcome of going into one of the most heavily populated racetracks in America and just "sniffing around," as Tony had called it. Sniffing around Death did not sound like a good plan at all. And the added bonus that they weren't allowed to wear their usual outfits-Tony was allowed his suit because he had not taken no for an answer-was not comforting either. Okay, it wasn't like he needed his outfit like Tony did. But a suit jacket was hardly something he wanted to be fighting in. He looked at himself in the mirror again and readjusted the vibrant blue tie Tony had insisted he wear. Steve thought it made him look like a circus clown. He was used to wearing suits, back in the day they were commonplace, not just for special occasions like they were now. They felt different though, the fabric seemed to soft and…just  _different._  That might have been because this particular suit was probably worth more than all he had ever made in the army. They had all slept through the rest of the day and night, but the second Steve woke up he was surrounded by tailors who were measuring him and mumbling to each other what sounded like a foreign language with a few English words mixed in.

He clawed at the tie again and tugged at the jacket, not used to everything being so snug against his body. Government issue wasn't exactly tailored, but he had always thought his suits had fit well. Apparently he had been wrong, but this felt like the equivalent of a male corset. It made him uncomfortable and a little irritated that he couldn't just wear what he wanted.  _"It's a status thing, Capsicle. I don't show up to stuff like this towing around hobos."_ Steve found that especially annoying, considering Tony didn't seem to care about anything before this mission. Well, Steve had never actually been to any events like this, but how formal could a horse race be?

The door opened and the smirking face of Tony Stark leaned in. "Don't got all day, bride-to-be," he teased. Steve pursed his lips and shot him a glare.

"I don't want to wear this," he said after a moment.

"Oh come on, I had this specially fitted for you. It's looks fine."

"I don't care how I  _look,"_  the Captain snapped, " I care about being caught by Death wearing this. Can I at least wear my outfit under it?"

"Well it sure is tight enough," Tony said with a raise of his eyebrows, "But no, you can't. Only stupid newspaper workers with alter egos do that," he spread his hand dramatically as though beholding something holy, "You're Captain America, the Super Solider! America's greates—okay, I'm the greatest, but America's second-greatest hero!"

The Captain cocked a brow with a disapproving frown. "You're ridiculous."

"You should have seen Pikachu,' the billionaire's eyes widened as he whistled.

"Who?"

"God, Steve. I gave you that history book for a reason, you're supposed to be better informed with pop culture by now."

"I have seventy years to catch up on, Tony, excuse me for trying to fit the pieces together first," Steve growled. Tony shrugged and opened the door wider.

"Let's go. Natasha's getting impatient. My  _car_ is getting impatient."

* * *

Whatever Tony had meant by Natasha being impatient, the car ride did not improve her mood. She was wearing a tight-fitting white silken dress. Each seam was lined with black, creating an eye-catching bodice of black and white. An elegant black hat sat atop her head, though Steve wasn't sure how it stayed there it was set at such an angle. Despite the beautiful outfit, Natasha looked bored and uninterested. When they had reached the car, Steve saw her boredom change to annoyance.

"Where's my car?" she asked with a warning tone.

"We're taking this one. A 2012 Ferrari 458 Italia," Tony replied as though nothing was wrong.

Steve was still captivated by the car. It looked like a piece of artwork, or a panther. Or some sort of panther art sculpture. It was low to the ground and made exclusively of curves, with 5-prong racing wheels and the yellow and black Ferrari symbol dotting the center of each one. He had seen Ferraris in person before when he went to government social gatherings and the like, but evidently they had taken a turn for the better. He felt stupid, but he really wanted to drive it.

Thus, Steve didn't realize the problem until he moved to sit inside. There were only two seats.

"Uh, Tony, there's only two seats."

"Excellent observation skills, Rogers," Natasha growled. Tony shrugged as if nothing were the matter and moved around to the driver's side. The door opened and the billionaire settled into his seat before waving a hand above the hood to beckon them inside.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but I'm not sitting in there," Natasha hissed, crossing her arms. Her fingers curled around her clutch purse, and Steve was pretty confident she had a gun in there.

"That's okay, I'll just drive myself-or you can drive yourself or-"

"Nobody's driving anything, you're both coming with me," Tony interrupted, voice muffled from inside the car. He leaned over and pushed the door open with a shove, and it thudded against Steve. Neither soldier nor agent moved. Steve was mostly paralyzed because he knew he would say the wrong thing, and he didn't know how to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation. They both knew Natasha was going to have to sit on his lap if they were all getting in this car together.

"Death won't wait forever!" Tony sang in a mocking tone.

The Black Widow turned to him with such intensity in her eyes that the Captain thought he might just walk instead of having to face her.

"Fine. Only to the airport."

"Sure thing, now get in, Spangles," the billionaire demanded, tapping the seat.

Steve got in cautiously, half-expecting Natasha to shoot him in the rear to prevent him from going on the excursion. In the back of their minds though, they all knew Tony was right. Death was on the verge of something, and they needed to find out what it was. They needed to find out  _who_  Death was. During the war Steve had read the Bible plenty of times-at least, he had read bits and pieces of it. The Four Horsemen were occasionally a topic of conversation; there were always men saying that Hitler as this, Stalin was that. He knew the verses well enough to know that Death was the only horsemen explicitly named. He didn't think that was a good sign.

Natasha sat on his lap as though he were some sort of reclining chair, and fiddled with the top of her purse. She caught the Captain's eye and smirked before her irises went dark.

"If you touch me, if you even look at me the wrong way, I have five knives, a pistol, and a taser that will hit you so fast you won't be able to correct yourself."

He knew she wasn't kidding, and he had no intention of doing anything remotely-anything period to upset her. She was called the Black Widow for reasons he didn't want to know. Even so, his face flushed at the thought that he would even-he didn't even know how to deal with women in general, let alone touch them! "I wasn't even-" he sputtered, but she put up a gloved hand.

"Just a warning," she said with a slight smile.

"Okay, we all love each other, now we gotta go. My private jet is waiting," said Tony, and Natasha leaned over to shut the door. Steve looked straight out the window. This was  _not_ going to be an enjoyable drive, despite the amazing car.

* * *

"Bruce, please," Clint whined as he looked through a pile of old clothes.

The scientist shook his head. "Sorry, Clint. The Other Guy might come out if he sees a gun pointed at me. And I have no clue what he would do if he saw dog fighting."

Clint was completely stuck. Fury had assigned him this mission, which was fine, but not fine when it involved Thor. This wasn't a joke, this was a serious mission and it had very serious consequences. The Asgardian might be immortal, but he wasn't. He had no powers except for deadly accuracy with a crossbow, and pretty good aim with firearms. If a gang turned on them because Thor said something funny...he wasn't confident either of them would survive. Missions like this needed agents who were on the same page and completely in tune with everything that was going on around them. The twitch of a lip read the wrong way could spark a disagreement, and when guns were concerned, arguments didn't end well.

"He had no idea what any of this stuff is. How am I supposed to convince a boss that I run the best firearms operation on the eastern seaboard if I have a partner who thinks a Desert Eagle is a bird?" he sighed. Thor wasn't even his normal self. With Loki caged, he doubted the thunder god would be back to normal until his brother was released. Which probably wasn't going to happen.

"You're good at what you do, Clint," Bruce smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Thor is the most loyal person- _god_  I have ever met. He'll listen to you better than any dog," Banner released a soft chuckle, "And he's huge. If you rough him up a bit he'll scare the living daylights out of people."

Clint smiled, "He's kind of like a giant blond puppy, isn't he?"

Bruce nodded, but his tone turned more somber. "He's hurting though. I'm going to do my best to try and figure out what's going on with his brother, but I think this mission is necessary." He looked up toward the other room where the thunderer was waiting for a change of clothes. "Thor needs to refocus on the real mission."

His reasoning was sound enough, but the archer didn't know how refocus a god that had been betrayed by his idiotic brother.

"Give me that sweatshirt." He gestured to the maroon hoodie that looked pretty raggedy already. Bruce handed it to him and he grabbed the pair of Wranglers they had already picked out. Thor wasn't going to pass for a street thug with his bleach blond hair, bright blue eyes and beach-tan skin; but he might be able to pass for a redneck-turned-arms dealer. At least, Clint hoped so.

He shoved the door open and tossed the clothes to Thor.

"Get dressed, we have a lot of work to do before we get moving. The thunder god did as he was told while Clint went back to grab a few weapons. This was going to take a long time just to get Thor on square one, but it was an interesting problem. He had never really thought about explaining guns to someone before. Thor most likely knew something of them, as they were everywhere in S.H.I.E.L.D society, but he probably didn't know what exactly happened. It must be strange to watch, people standing there with little black things that light up while holes appeared in things as if by magic. He entered the room staring down at the huge silver pistol, light machine gun and rifle in his hands.

Thor was busy stumbling around the room with the sweatshirt on backwards. Only one arm had managed to make it into a sleeve, and even though the hoodie was a large, the god's bicep was straining the seam like a fat person in spandex. Evidently guns weren't going to be the only problem. He sighed and came over to help.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he began to tug at the fabric. "Don't you know hoods are supposed to go on the back of your head?"

"I was not informed that this article of clothing possessed a hood," Thor snapped in reply, trying to wriggle out. After a good ten minutes of pulling and cursing, the thunder god was freed. Clint would have laughed, but they needed to get moving.

"Okay, now put in on the right way," he grumbled, handing over the sweatshirt again.

"Much time would have been saved if you had told me how to do so in the first place," the thunderer replied.

"Sorry, I forgot you didn't know how to put on your own clothes," he returned with a smirk. Thor growled something into the thick cloth and finally managed to pull it over his head. His blond mane stuck out all over the place and his arms were stretching the fabric so tight he looked like a little kid who had tried on a too-small sweatshirt and forgotten to brush his hair for the past five years. The jeans looked good though, Clint thought as he struggled to contain a laugh.

"Do not look at me as though I am a fool," Thor growled, then tried to pull the hood down but his arms couldn't bend all the way. The archer cracked up at the sight and he swore he heard Bruce laughing from outside. He shook his head, still laughing as he pulled a knife from his belt.

"Calm down hotshot," he chuckled as Thor eyed the knife. He pulled up the fabric as the base of the sleeve and cut it open with his knife. In a few more moments of slashing at the fabric both sleeves were discarded on the floor and the god of thunder was standing there in a haphazard attempt at a sleeveless cutoff hoodie. Clint couldn't decide which was more hilarious. Thor didn't look pleased, though he often sported the same look; Asgard style, of course. he picked at the threads that were sticking out with a look of disdain.

"This clothing smells of excrement," the thunderer muttered.

"You're allow to say 'shit,' Thor," the archer laughed, "But yeah, it does. It's supposed to."

"What army commander wishes to be greeted by men who wear reeking clothes?"

Of course Thor didn't know what a gang was. He was like a little kid. "Okay, I really don't have time to explain this to you, but here we go. These armies are called gangs," he check to make sure the Aesir was listening before continuing, "Gangs aren't nice. They kill people with guns," he tapped the rifle on the table. "Each gang has a leader who acts kind of like the king. We aren't meeting him, we're meeting with the...commanders who want more guns."

"They do not craft their own weapons?"

"Nope. Guns are much cheaper to buy. We are pretending to be the people who are selling the guns, so we have to look intimidating and mean." He struggled to find the right words to continue, "We have to look mean because...that's just what they do. It's kind of like-we have to assert that we are the ones running this...exchange."

Thor blinked at him, but didn't ask any questions. Clint assumed that he got the jist of what he had said. He lifted the pistol, and pulled out the magazine. He wiggled the black cartridge.

"This is called a magazine, it holds bullets," he shook the mag and a few bullets fell to his palm. "Bullets kill people." He held one up, and handed it out to Thor. The thunder god didn't reach out for it, and took a step back instead. "They can't kill people like this, only when they're in the gun."

Thor took the lead pellet very carefully, and twirled it in his fingers. "These...kill?"

Clint figured the god would be upset by it. And for good reason, the more he thought about it the more it saddened him. Though it sounded simple, guns did kill people. People died at the impact of just a little piece of metal and gunpowder.

"Yeah," he answered finally. He held up the gun as he began to explain how a gun works in the simplest terms he could find. "The bullet comes up here and then there's a little explosion inside the base of this shaft," he ran his finger along the top, "It's called a barrel. Anyway, the bullet goes through the barrel and starts going really fast, then flies out of here and, well, hits it target."

"And they are killed," Thor finished.

"Sometimes. Sometimes they survive." The humor from a few moments ago had dried up completely, and a grim atmosphere set in as the thunderer nodded slowly.

"So we are to pretend to sell these guns and their bullets to the gangs," the Aesir rumbled.

"Exactly. Well, I'll be doing all of the talking. You're going to pretend to be my bodyguard, so you don't say anything," he looked Thor in the eye in warning. "You can't say anything unless I tell you to. If they figure out that we are lying to them, there will be a lot of bullets in the air that won't be so harmless."

Thor's eyes flicked down to the metal in his hands and promptly placed it back onto the table. "I understand."

"You just do whatever they ask you to do. They're going to touch you-" That sounded awkward, he realized with a slight smile, "To try to feel if you have any guns. If they ask you anything, I'll answer for you. Don't look nervous, you have to be aggressive and-just look menacing." He cocked a brow and Thor offered a look of such deep resentment that Clint thought is was completely serious.

"Damn, you're good," he breathed after a moment. Something told him the look was not entirely faked, and he didn't want to think about who that was directed at. It had better not be him. Maybe it was though, after all, he had been the one who had gone straight for Loki's throat when the other god had appeared in the briefing room. It felt like such a long time ago, but Clint didn't think his hatred for Loki would ever really go away. Obviously, Loki had not redeemed himself, he should have realized that from the beginning. Thor was always too trusting in his brother. There was just something so disturbing about being controlled by another person and ripped from from his being...hatred was the only adequate emotion to describe it. Even so, he had gotten his chance, he had held a needle to Loki's throat and came within millimeters of injecting heart stopping poison into the god's heart. But he had stopped.

When he got the chance again, and Tony had demanded for him to shoot, he could only see the despair on Thor's face. The utter devastation that his brother was going to take his life. Clint had aimed the arrow straight for Loki's heart, a detonator arrow that would ensure that there was no survival. Instead of seeing the black-haired god as an assassination target, Clint had seen him suddenly as a lifeline. The fate of the world rested on their shoulders, and Thor would have been ruined. Destroyed.

So he had swapped arrows and delivered a series of non-lethal shots. He couldn't claim that they were non-lethal because of what Thor's reaction might have been, and understanding had been reached, silently and without Loki's knowledge. Clint remembered everything, and though Loki had been blunt in his words, he had never harmed him. Psychological harm, yes, but that would have happened regardless because the trickster had needed his plan to go through. As he watched the ravenous god prepare to take his brother's life even when freed from Conquest's clutches, he saw himself. What he might have become. If Loki had allowed the commanded hatred to seep into his bones so that when he returned he would still feel it. Loki had even mentioned it just before the needle came to his throat.  _"I must admit, you were quite the soldier."_ As with everything the god said, it was meant to cut him, but now Clint saw some truth in those words. _"...I did everything I could to right it..."_

"Barton," Thor's voice jarred him from his thoughts, and he jumped.

"Yeah, sorry, what did you say?" He brought a hand to his forehead.

"We should be departing."

Oh, right, the mission. He looked up and chewed his lip for a moment before speaking. "Look, I know you probably have some sort of dislike for me because I keep trying to kill your brother," he looked the thunderer dead in the eyes even though it was slightly terrifying. "But I just want you to know that-I don't hate him." He wasn't sorry for what he had done, and he wouldn't apologize for it, and Thor seemed to realize that.

The Aesir smiled then, a smile full of relief and acceptance. A hand came to his shoulder and he faltered under the sudden weight. Then things got even more awkward as Thor's hand moved to his neck. "Thank you," came a deep rumble that vibrated his own vocal chords.

Clint leaned away, "Alright there, let's stop with the neck-grabbing now, that's kind of weird." There was a slight smile on his face though, and he felt as though they could truly trust each other now. At least, enough for this mission. He took one last look at Thor's ridiculous getup and opened the door. Bruce waved them off and they headed to the flight deck, where a heli-jet was waiting for them. Thor followed behind with a content expression, but the archer noticed that he looked back a few times, as if expecting to find Loki standing behind them. And, for some reason, Clint found himself doing the same thing.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark! Is that action I smell?

Steve was shaking as he looked out the window. Natasha could no doubt feel it, and she gave him an odd look out of the corner of her eye. The drive had been as miserable as expected, and even after they had reached the airport he had been unable to look in Natasha's general direction and had a few scathing words in mind for Tony. Stark would hear none of them though, and further added to the discomfort by announcing that he would be coming to the races that day; effectively ruining any chance they had at an undercover mission. Natasha had been beyond angry, and Steve was caught in the middle of their feud with nothing to say to either of them. Tony had made a good point in doing what he did; going into such a big social event and not being a showoff would have been seen as uncharacteristic, but Fury had specifically said this was supposed to be an undercover mission, and the billionaire's decision wasn't exactly appreciated. The major question was whether Death would leave now that they had announced their coming, or if Death had even been there in the first place. The horse was still there, but they never had any concrete evidence that the actual horseman was.

When they had landed, Tony had ignored the vans sent to pick them up, and opted for the Ferrari again. Thanks to the anger that had created a rift in their three person team, Natasha had refused to give the billionaire the satisfaction of being in the car with just Steve. So the Captain was the odd man out, staying silent for the whole ride to Churchill.

And now, for whatever reason, he couldn't stop shaking. Steve was not one for nervousness, well, not one to show nervousness. He was the man in charge, but suddenly felt like no one at all. The parking lot was packed full of cars, many of which were decorated with Avengers insignia and bumper stickers. He wondered how many of these people had just shown up because they were coming. Every person on the grounds was at risk, and adding more to the mix was not a good idea. A sigh escaped his lips as people began to notice the car, and by the time they had pulled up to the valet area a large crowd had formed.

"We shouldn't have called," Steve mumbled mostly to himself.

"We? This was completely Tony's idea," Natasha snapped, "I don't remember you doing anything to stop him either, Steve."

The Captain shook his head once, not daring to look up from the cup holder.

"Oh can it," Tony retorted, "We both know Death would expect something if we just showed up out of the blue."

"You think he doesn't suspect something now?" the Black Widow glared at him.

"Well I doubt he expects a fight."

"And we aren't giving him one," Steve cut in. "This is a no combat mission."

"Yeah, I know," Tony said with a smile out the window. "I just hope Death figures that out."

"He's probably taking this as a challenge," Natasha snarled, gripping the armrest. Steve saw her manicured nails sink into the leather. The tension was rising quickly, and he didn't like that they were being so careless. If he had learned anything about this new age, there were constantly pictures being taken of them. When he had first moved in to his house, news crews had killed all of his grass from standing in his yard for so long. The police had to be called when the complaints got so bad the secretaries couldn't sift through it all. Now they had cards they had to swipe just to get in. Anytime he went out with Tony, there were flashing lights and speculations in magazines on newsstands the next day.

"You need to calm down, both of you," his eyes flicked from spy to billionaire. "We're in public now, and if we even look at each other the wrong way, someone is going to figure out what's going on."

"I'm sure they'll be able to read the we're-all-in-danger-of-getting-killed-by-a-horseman look on my face. Pretty common look," Tony replied.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do, and it's pissing me off."

"So now you're mad at me?" He could felt his own temper flaring as they pulled into the roundabout curve behind a Mercedes.

"I didn't say I was mad. I said you're pissing me off."

"You're one to talk," Natasha said with a snarl, "You were fine with pissing me off on the plane."

"And? If I remember correctly, you worked under me. I'm in charge."

"Whoa," Steve's brow creased in annoyance, "We're a team, there's nobody in charge."

"Sure, Captain." Tony rolled his eyes beneath his sunglasses, "Can't handle the power shift?"

"What are you—" he was interrupted by the thud at the door handle. A valet stood outside the window, blinking in embarrassment that he had tried to open a locked door. Tony's smile came back, and Natasha relaxed, her face losing all emotion. The doors clicked and the valet tried again, opening the door and extending a hand for Natasha. She smiled at him, grasping his hand with gloved fingers. Smart move, Steve realized. She wouldn't have to touch anyone directly, therefore trumping any horseman contamination.

Cameras flashed wildly as Steve and Tony stepped out, and the billionaire tipped the valet two hundred bucks to park the car in a public place.

"I know there has to be some fans that want a picture with it," he said with a wink. The valet nodded with wide eyes, and slid into the car as though he were about to drive a solid gold brick. "Come on, Prima Ballerina, let's go." Tony offered an arm, and Natasha looked as though she might whack him over the head with her clutch purse. Steve laughed nervously as neither of them moved. Instead of grabbing the arm offered to her, Natasha gave a small smile and looped her arm around Steve's, glaring at the billionaire with enough hatred to kill a man.

The Captain awkwardly adjusted himself to look like this was normal, that the Black Widow had planned to be his date for the event. More cameras flashed in his face and he had a feeling Clint would strangle him after this was all over. Maybe even before that.

They entered the Downs into a massive room filled with hundreds of people. Booths displaying track information lined the left wall and signs pointing to the bar and restrooms filled the airspace overhead. A crowd gathered immediately, and racetrack personnel made a ring around them and put some distance between them and the pack of screaming girls, a good portion of them wearing some sort of Avengers gear. One girl was even carrying a miniature shield, and he was painfully reminded of how vulnerable he was. His suit was restricting his every movement, and his arm was starting to lose circulation where the fabric was creased at his elbow. Tony starting signing autographs and sent one of the staff members for a drink, and Natasha offered a reserved smile and a few waves. She leaned over to whisper in his ear and Steve could hear a thousand cameras click.

"We need to move, now," there was a smile on her face, but her tone was menacing. He nodded curtly, smiling as though she had just said something funny.

"Tony, come on," he slapped a hand on the billionaire's shoulder. Tony stiffened, and shot him a backward glare, hidden by his glasses. He signed one more autograph and turned to where the staff was motioning them.

It was clear that Tony had been here before, and he didn't even look up at the glass sculpture that hung above them as they strolled toward wherever it was they were going. Three glass horse heads were connected at the neck and surrounded by silver panes edged with pink and blue. Three crowns were visible, and he realized that it was to symbolize the Triple Crown. Even so, it reminded him of Conquest, and the silver one she had picked up from the floor in the moments before she took over his head.

A tug at his arm reminded him of what he was here for, and he followed Natasha's lead, starting pointless conversation about the weather to avoid arousing suspicion. Tony stayed noticeably silent; no doubt fuming over his public rejection from Natasha that was probably making rounds on the internet by now. Steve didn't really know how that worked, but once he had been yawning at a café and the next minute Clint sent him a picture that had been captioned and commented on by hundreds of people. Everything was hyper-connected in this century, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

They rounded the corner to a long hallway lined with various works of art that depicted thoroughbreds, trophies, and blankets of roses. The people in this section of the Downs were sharply dressed, and though they looked at Tony eagerly, they made no move to greet any of them. Rich people. They always had their smug ways of pointing out that they thought themselves above everybody else. Rich carpet lined the hallway and ended with an enormous glass depiction of the Downs.

"Each piece was hand-sculpted," a staff member commented, an older man with a lanyard around his neck that was completely covered in pins. Steve immediately liked him, from his warm smile to the way he seemed so proud of where he was working. "There are over a thousand separate pieces, less than when it was first brought here," he paused a moment, allowing them to look appreciatively at the workmanship. "Some people couldn't resist taking some home. A real shame."

"It's beautiful," Natasha commented.

"I agree," the man replied. "Well, I can see your friend knows where he's going," he said after a moment. Steve looked up to see Tony walking up the staircase without them.

"Yeah, he's been here before." The Captain found it oddly amusing that this old man had no idea who he was talking about. It seemed Tony Stark wasn't known by everyone after all.

"If you don't mind, I think you should see the grounds, if your friend there isn't going to show you."

Natasha let out a polite chuckle, but Steve knew it wasn't just because she felt she had to. "That would be wonderful, thank you." She tugged him along behind the old man, and the Captain cast one last glance at the stairs before following with a reluctant grin.

* * *

Tony looked down the massive hallway of the racetrack, not bothering to look back to see where Natasha and Steve had gone off to. Fury may have given them their mission together, but that didn't mean they actually had to stay together. He didn't really want to talk to either of them anyway. Romanoff was being more annoying than usual and Steve was just—he really didn't want to deal with it. The ride over here had been hectic enough, and all he wanted was a good glass of booze and an afternoon of watching rich men act like fools.

All of it was a giant play, a theatrical production put on by America's finest. Take the hallway for instance. Not a soul in sight; just faux velvet (actually it looked more like felt) carpet and more worthless paintings lining the walls. Every door was shut, each VIP lounge closed up and uninviting to any passerby. He went to the first door and opened it up to the real show. Suits and elegant dresses were everywhere and the sound of heels clicking on polished marble echoed over the low murmur of conversation. Gourmet buffet tables were lined with everything from apple fritters to steamed zucchini, but he was more interested in the high-class bar in the corner.

This looked like the right place, all of the men in the room looked interested in what was actually happening on the track instead of on the women. Only horse owners and racing gurus acted like that. Sure enough, one of the men cursed as a group of horses ran past the finish, gesturing wildly at the track while explaining that he had told his trainer not to put that jockey on board. A few others chuckled to themselves, probably counting up the money they had just earned in their heads. Tony plucked a tiny sandwich from the table and popped it in his mouth. A few people began to notice who he was and he flashed his best PR smile. He hated these types of things. For one, no one knew how to properly host a party in this country, and two; well, he hated people. Rich people anyway. They reminded him too much of the weapons business, where it didn't really matter what you built, because the government only took the lowest bidder. Stark Industries had been an exception to that rule, but that was only because he would have sold it to another country if they hadn't paid up. That thought sickened him.

"Tony Stark, I'll be!" A voice called over the murmurings of the crowd. He turned, cocking a brow over the top of his sunglasses that he had purposely kept on. A fat, Greek man bumbled toward him, spreading his arms for a sweaty hug. Tony smiled weakly and took a step back.

"Victor DuPont," he greeted as his brain came up with the name. Financial hotshot, an investor who almost never turned down a chance to get money. Gambling problem.

"What are you doing here? The derby isn't for months!" A fat hand came to clap his shoulder and he jerked at the boisterous greeting. Victor moved to shake his hand, but Tony pulled back, remembering that anyone could be Death here.

"I'm been doing some genetic research—pretty hefty stuff. Viruses and all that." He shrugged, shaking his head, "Probably not the best idea to make skin-to-skin contact. "

Victor hurriedly returned his hand to his side and eyed Tony as he pulled a plump grape from the fruit bowl. The billionaire laughed, "Don't worry, its not transmittable through food." God, it was going to be annoying to have to explain this to everyone who tried to touch him. The grape burst in his mouth as he bit down, and he busied himself with the sweet taste as he looked out at the rest of the partygoers. Plenty of eyes were glancing at him, and more than a few looked menacing. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Victor started to squirm away, but Tony sidled up next to him with a wide grin. "So, Vicky, what's the news on Bedlington Hollow? They have any stock up for grabs?"

The man gave a weak shrug. "Maybe. I—I haven't really looked into it."

He knew that was a lie, Victor was probably only here to get the dirt on the other companies. "Oh please, at least give me false information if you want to try and trick me."

"Wha—"

"If this about the sickness thing, it's really just a precaution," he examined his hand again as though it were an alien. "So, fess up. What's the news? I'm not looking to invest—I have enough money, but I just wanna hear the scoop."

Victor glanced at Tony's palm and sighed. "Well, they own the palomino everyone is talking about," his voice lowered to a near whisper, "Everyone around here is getting pretty upset. There's over three million dollars in horseflesh that has 'mysteriously' died after beating that horse. People are paying off Bedlington to either scratch him or let him win. They've never been more profitable in their lives."

Tony scanned the room again. Now he could see the downward turns at the end of every smile and the sour looks that he originally had thought were for him. "Yeah, did they ever find out what the whole horse-dying problem is all about? Like, you know with—" he made a few circles with his index finger, "science?"

Victor shook his head, wiggling both of his chins.

"Of course not. No one ever thinks to actually try and figure out the problem," Tony grumbled, readjusting his sunglasses. "Alright, where's Big Bad?"

The tubby man looked as though Tony had just lit a stick of dynamite. "Shh!" Victor hissed, "I don't care if you insult him, but don't insult him around me! I had to pull a lot of strings to get the race card changed today, my horse is actually going to win, but if you start talking bad they'll never let me in again!"

"Fine, fine, calm down, Vicky." He tried to pinpoint where the livid gazes were going, but couldn't see anyone that looked like the man in charge.

"He's right there," a puffy finger pointed to a table at the far side of the room that Tony hadn't noticed. An ancient old man sat facing the window, staring out to the track though there were no horses to look at. Tony flicked his watch and thanked his "friend" before heading to the bar.

"Where are you two?" he hissed as he pretended to fix the cuffs of his sleeves.

Natasha answered. "Got an invite to the stables, I'm sending Steve to check out the horse. "

Great. So much for no solo missions. "Bourbon, best you've got," Tony said to the bartender before responding back, "And what exactly are you doing besides letting Captain Clueless go sightseeing?

"I've got it handled, Stark."

"Yeah, somehow I don't believe you." The glass of bourbon was set on the table with a clink and Tony nodded to the man behind the counter.

"Really? Look, you're one huge—and I mean huge—pain in the ass, Tony, but this mission takes priority. I'm not going to compromise it just because you're feelings got hurt when I wouldn't hold your hand."

Well, that was one way to piss him off. "You know what? I think you ought to—"

He was interrupted by a loud wail that made him cringe.

"Daddy, please! I just want to play with her!" A little girl's voice made him turn to see a red-faced child clutching at the pant leg of a young man. He looked completely lost and rightfully embarrassed. His daughter was sobbing and screaming like the annoying brat she was, grabbing for a doll in her father's hand. The man leaned down, taking the little girl's arm and talking in the low voice that he had seen a thousand parents use at dinner parties. The girl sniffled and nodded once, rubbing her eyes until the doll was handed to her.

"Tony?" Natasha's voice came into his earpiece in his sunglasses.

"Sorry, there was another temper tantrum going on," he growled. "I'm going to talk to the guy in charge of Bedlington. Make sure Steve doesn't end up in the tabloids tomorrow." He clicked against his watch and the call dropped before Natasha could respond. The old man at the window hadn't moved a bit. Tony grabbed his drink and stepped over to the empty table.

"So," he started, grabbing a seat, "Rumor has it that you're the one who owns the palomino."

There was a long pause, and the man did not shift his gaze as he answered. "Yes."

Tony rolled his eyes as he took a burning sip of his bourbon. "My question is, why do you keep racing him? There's a lot of dead horses out there. Do you like death, is that it?" Okay, he sounded ridiculous, but he didn't really have time to ease into the conversation.

"Death is only natural," came the leathery reply. It is not my decision when it decides to strike."

"Is that right…Funny, see, I kind of saw you as the type who doesn't want his business to be ruined. I think you make a lot of decisions about what horses live and die." His eyes narrowed, watching for a change of color, something that would confirm his suspicion.

"This industry is not built on your ability to guess 'types,' Mr. Stark."

Tony took another dry swig. "Is it built on your uncanny ability to guess names? I never introduced myself," he stuck a hand across the table, "Hi there, I'm Tony Star—oh wait, you already knew that. How silly of me."

"The man just kept staring out the window. "You are a very famous man. I have not introduced myself either, I suppose," his voice wobbled with age, "What was the name you gave me? Ah, yes, Big Bad, was it not?"

Tony's pulse began to quicken. There was no way this guy could have heard what he said. This was Death, right here to watch his horse parade to victory. Unless—"My friends, Steve and Natasha, you were the one who invited them to the stables, weren't you?"

The old man finally turned to him. His face was a gallery of wrinkles and creases, with two pale blue eyes that stuck out like headlights against his tanned leather skin. He was blind, Tony realized. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't. " He leaned over the table with a scowl, "If you touch either of them—if your damned horse so much as looks at them the wrong way, I'll end this right now. "

"I certainly hope you are not threatening me, Mr. Stark."

"Only if you're planning to hurt my friends," he snapped.

The man stood on wobbly legs, gripping a black cane with a raven's beak peeking through withered fingers. Black onyx eyes glittered beneath the shadow of his hand as he hobbled away, feeling out for chairs and tables. Tony's heart was pounding as he frantically pressed the call button. No answer.

"Shit," he snarled under his breath and stood up.

Suddenly a little hand was yanking at his pant leg (his custom designed Ralph Lauren pant leg) and the little girl from earlier was sobbing against his thigh. The old man vanished into the crowd and he swore again, tentatively pressing the creature away from him and trying to slip away.

"Iron Man! " the girl sobbed, "Fix her!" A creepy-looking doll was held up to his face and he leaned back reflexively. An arm was hanging off, dangling by a bunch of wires. He blinked; that was one complex doll, it had robot wiring. He glanced at his watch, but neither Steve nor Natasha had called back. Looks were already being cast at him, and he saw no way he could get out of this without helping the damned kid. "Iron Man, please!"

"Okay, okay, just—be quiet." He sat down in his chair again and the little girl caught his leg in a death-grip hug. "And quit hugging me, these pants are worth more than you." She didn't listen to him, and buried her face into his knee, staining it with salty kid tears. Those better not stain.

He set the doll on the table. It looked normal enough on the outside, with golden hair and bright blue eyes that blinked, judging by the way they were designed. It had chubby almost-boyish features, and was clearly designed to appeal to little girls who wanted to pretend to be mothers. He snorted at the thought, and then carefully tugged at the "severed" arm. Thick wire cording twisted underneath, way too complex to be in the hands of a kid.

"It's a prototype." Tony jumped at the voice, only to look up to see the father. "I'm designing a new type of doll that does everything; blinking, kicking, crying, all of it. "

"I'm gonna be honest, that kind of creeps me out," he chuckled lightly, glancing at his watch again before popping the arm back in the socket. The girl reached up eagerly and fussed with the doll's neck. There was a click, and the doll fluttered to life. Blue eyes blinked and the newly attached arm bent in a very lifelike motion, wiggling its fingers. Suddenly, it went limp again.

"Daddy!" the girl screamed.

"I've got it, sweetheart," he soothed, then looked to Tony again, "the battery does that sometimes. I've got to jump it again."

"Can I try and figure it out?" Tony asked. He should be going out and looking for Natasha and Steve, but remembered with a smirk that Natasha "had it handled." They could wait a little bit longer. Death was a slow walker anyway, and one press of a button and he would be in his suit and out over the track if something happened. Not to mention, everyone still had their necklaces on.

"Sure," the father said, pulling a tiny screwdriver from his pocket, "I'd be honored to have Tony Stark work on my technology."

Tony gave a good-natured grin, shifting his leg to try and get the girl to stop grabbing it. He was careful not to touch the man's hand as he grabbed the screwdriver, just out of habit. He hated being handed things, but oh well.

"Open the compartment in the chest, that's where the battery is."

He did as he was told, moving down the maroon blouse to reveal a little plastic box. This guy was a prude; he didn't even put boobs on his doll. Even Barbie did that, he thought as he unscrewed the opening. The plastic popped up and sure enough, a round silver battery and a mess of wires met his eyes.

"You've got a frayed wire," he noted aloud, "I'll have to reroute that circuit, but I'm guessing a mostly-working doll is better than nothing." He glanced to the little girl and the man chuckled.

"Definitely. Here," he man dug out a tiny toolkit and handed it to him.

"Does this happen a lot?"

The father laughed, "Well, it's in testing, and she does a great job of helping me kid-proof it." He ruffled the girl's hair and she burrowed her head further into his knee, like a leech.

He pull out a pair of pliers and tugged the frayed wire from the circuit board, clamping the end of it so that it could be reinserted once it was cut. He plucked out another wire of the same color, one that was bunched in the cording that travelled down the left arm. He inserted the new wire in place of the old one, giving enough power back to the battery for it to turn on. Sure enough, a light flicked on the circuit board and the doll jerked to life.

"Good as new," he smiled, showing the girl's dad.

"Actually, you just activated the backup, but it'll do for a few hours. That's what I was going to do anyway."

Tony's smile vanished. He didn't like being told he did the wrong thing. "It doesn't automatically go on backup?"

"No, it's—it's complicated."

Tony glared behind his sunglasses, and closed the hatch, rescrewing the cover and sliding the blouse back up again.

"Thanks Iron Man!" the girl squealed as she snatched the doll away. Tony handed back the tools and nodded once to the father before slipping out the door and into the hall.

Four hundred miles away, Thor began to scream.


	22. Chapter 22

He had heard about Flint, Michigan before. America's murder capital, up to its ears in crime. Anyone who lived there seemed to be stuck, and it seemed like anyone who had the money to leave didn't waste any time. At one point it had been the pinnacle of the auto industry, Flint's entire economy was centered around the General Motors factory. The the factory was closed and to say that the economy crashed was an understatement. Clint drummed his fingers on the smooth leather steering wheel, humming the scratchy rock song that barely left the speakers. Thor was fast asleep with his face smashed against the window, and the archer didn't blame him. Michigan wasn't all that interesting to look at after twenty minutes of driving through the same wispy grasslands and the occasional sparse forest. Fall was settling in, so it looked a little more colorful than it probably did the rest of the year, but not much.

Driving into Flint was akin to driving into the setup for a horror movie. Everything seemed bleak, even the rich red brick that made up the center of town seemed faded. A few metal archways arced over the street, but they looked more like the skeleton of what once was. There was almost no traffic to speak of, and only hooded figures and the occasional drifter shoving a mangled shopping cart down the street were the only life on the streets. There weren't even any dogs or even any squirrels, just lonely brick buildings and empty storefronts. It gave him the creeps, and he had to constantly remind himself that his bow was back at base.

His drumming turned to wringing on the wheel, and he fiddled with the radio volume to no avail as they entered the suburbs. Driving around with a Norse god wasn't feeling as safe as he had thought it would.

The house was about as nice as a well used dumpster. It was incredibly small, no bigger than some of the run down barns they had driven past. The windows had been boarded up at one point, but someone had evidently taken a sledgehammer to the wood, effectively making a jagged windowsill that added to the haunted appearance. It was on the outskirts of the city, with a good two-acre plot of unkempt field around it. Impossible to escape into surrounding houses. Not like anyone would get that far, two Rottweilers were harnessed to the front porch to a post that was already splintered. Thor rubbed his eyes, still groggy, but sobered up at the sight of a man coming out to the front porch. His eyes were cutting right through the bulletproof glass of their van and Clint was ready to throw it in reverse and get the hell out of there. But he couldn't, and the van crunched to a stop on the gravel driveway.

"Ready?" Clint asked, more to himself than to Thor.

"Yes," came the rumbling reply.

"Good. Just…remember to stay quiet. This guy might tear your throat out if you don't."

The thunderer laughed outright, "I would delight in seeing a mortal attempt to harm me."

It soothed him a little to know that Thor was comfortable enough to joke about the situation, but Clint sure wasn't. This sucked.

He popped the door open and forced himself into a grim expression. The man pulled a mini-Uzi from his jacket, and motioned to the car. The archer scoffed, falling into his role more easily than he expected.

"Hey, pal, we're here to sell. Get that thing outta my face before I decide to test my goods," he snarled. The man blinked, and suddenly looked like nothing more than the mid-twenties guy he probably was before all of this. Clint opened the back doors of the van and was met with the arsenal of rocket launchers, RPGS, snipers, and assault rifles that S.H.I.E.L.D. had so graciously given them. The man walked around the van, keeping his gun out, but the archer saw that it was on safety. Thank god.

"Goldilocks, help me out here." Thor came around the side with the menacing expression he had tested out earlier, and Clint could see the physical shiver from the man.

"Goldilocks? What are you, a girl?"

Thor growled and went after the man. They had planned for this, though, and Clint stepped in front of him. He turned to the idiot that had decided to actually insult them.

"Make a crack like that again and he'll rip out your jugular." Yeah, that sounded menacing.

The man was visibly shaken, but he was obviously a stubborn one. "What, he can't talk for himself?"

"He's foreign, idiot. My business doesn't employ our clients. But he understands English, so you'd better get that straight before you say something like that again."

Thor let out a snort of agreement and he nearly burst out laughing. One look at that Uzi was enough to stop him though and he began yanking out suitcase after suitcase of weapons and stacking them in Thor's arms. Once there were about five, he realized that no normal human could possibly lift that weight and Thor didn't even look like he was struggling. Their escort was wide-eyed, so Clint swore under his breath and took off the top suitcase and shut the door.

"Where to?"

"This way—and don't try to pet the dogs."

Yeah, like he was going to do that. The Rottweilers growled as they approached, and he made sure to be the buffer between the dogs and the god of thunder, just in case Thor decided that they looked huggable or something.

It smelled awful as they stepped inside and he wrinkled his nose. He knew it was the smell of weed and judging from the light in what appeared to be the kitchen, he was guessing other drugs were being made here as well. A group of men sat on the stairs, and made their greeter look like a pansy. Tattoos littered every inch of what little exposed skin they had, and most of their eyes were bloodshot from drugs.

"Put your stuff here."

They walked to the fold out table and Clint began unclasping the suitcases. They were too big to all fit on the table so he had Thor put some on the floor and pop them open to reveal the slick weaponry inside. The men on the stairs began to murmur at the sight and Clint dusted off his jacket, standing in front of his cargo. Thor settled next to him, the muscle in his arm twitching as his fingers flexed. One of the men approached, and Clint fell into pat-down position, prompting Thor to do the same. He was glad he didn't have to fly mainstream anymore, that was for sure. Of course, nothing was found on either of them, but the archer was very glad that was over. Thor looked slightly mortified.

"So where's the boss?" he asked after a long pause.

"Comin'."

A navy blue hoodie came up to Thor and held out a little patch of tinfoil. Clint couldn't see what was on it, but he knew it wasn't good. "Want some, blondie?"

Thor peered closer and, to his horror, swiped a bit of whatever it was off of the foil with his finger.

"Get that shit outta his face," he snapped, "My boys are clean." Great job, way to convince them. Thor wiped the substance onto his jeans, snapping back to attention as though finally realizing he wasn't supposed to have done that.

"Nah, he seems like he wants some."

"Well, he doesn't. I don't drug up my clients, so you sure as hell shouldn't drug up your sellers unless you're looking to try and rip me off."

Shaded eyes narrowed and the man stepped closer. "You tryin' to say I'm a cheater?"

"You're the one trying to drug up my man," Clint retorted, but inwardly he was scolding himself. Thor took a step forward, and the archer could practically see the electricity sparking behind the thunderer's blue eyes.

"Back off," a ridiculously low voice came from the doorway and all three of them turned. A man who looked to be in his mid-forties was settling into a ravaged armchair. A massive grey and white pit bull was at his side, and it didn't have a leash, or a collar for that matter. Its eyes were a dark chocolate brown, mirroring the color of its owner. This was undoubtedly the man in charge. The pit bull yawned, and flopped onto its side, but its eyes were dead set on the three of them. The navy blue hoodie slunk back to the stairs. Most of the others headed for the other room, and the rest went upstairs, Navy Hoodie following at their heels.

"You the boss around here?" Clint blurted out.

The man gave a low, resonating chuckle that made Thor's sound like a girl's. "Yes, that'd be me."

"Well, I've brought my arsenal. Whadda ya looking for?" Okay, he needed to back off on that accent.

"I want all of it."

He snorted in disbelief, "All of it? Sorry, but something tells me you don't have 60 million dollars lying around."

"And how would you know?"

Horsemen radiation was around here somewhere, and he had the strangest feeling that he was being tested somehow. He took a deep breath, and felt the cool touch of his pendant. If Death was here…he didn't doubt that he could conjure 60 million bucks at the snap of his fingers.

"I don't. I do know that you're living in the town where more people die per year than anywhere else—in terms of population anyway. Sounds perfect for this operation you're running."

"Dog fighting? I don't see what that had to do with homicides."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "I'm not here to play games."

"That's right," the man massaged his chin, "you're here to sell me firearms."

Thor tensed at the word, and the pit bull's ears perked. Clint shot him a look, and the thunderer straightened.

"Seems we both brought pets today," the man chuckled. The pit bull sat up and let out a whine as its tail began to whip back and forth. Clint's phone began to vibrate in his pocket, three quick pulses that meant it was from someone on the team.

"You want all of them?" he motioned to the guns, "Fine. But I want the money in cash."

The man let out a sigh and leaned back to slouch in the chair. "You know, there's so much about this world that is overlooked."

Clint cocked a brow, looking to Thor. The god was staring intently at the dog, uninterested or unnoticing his gaze. He turned back to the man, "And what would that be?"

"Guns, drugs, women. Three things that bring down this illustrious society," his voice was dripping with sarcasm, "Murder, idolization, lust. It's insulting to think that they are generalized in such a way. Makes my job that much easier."

He blinked in disbelief. This wasn't—this couldn't be Death. He wasn't given much time to process though, because Thor cried out. He turned to see the thunderer clutching his arm, eyes wide with pain.

"What's wrong?"

The man answered him. "Looks like he's in pain."

The archer shot a glare over his shoulder, "Yeah, thanks." He bent to help his friend, but Thor's eyes were screwed shut as he grunted with every quick breath. Then his entire right arm moved, and he saw the connective tissue of his shoulder actually pull his arm out of its socket. Thor let out a scream, his eyes flung wide.

"W-what the hell?"

"Close," the man laughed, "Guess again."

Clint shoved a hand down his shirt, and pulled out the slim pocket knife he'd hidden there. The blade flicked out, and he started to cut away the maroon fabric as Death began to hum behind him. The dog began to bark. Thor was going into shock, but it wasn't until he pressed an ear to his chest that Clint realized that the thunderer's heart was no longer beating.

"No…" he breathed, "No!" He turned back to the man, "What are you doing? He's dying, stop!" But it was no use. The man only shrugged and the dog continued to bellow. Thor couldn't be dying…that was impossible. He tore away more fabric as watched in sick horror as his right shoulder popped back into place on its own as though he were possessed.

With a gasp, the thunderer came back to life. Death began to sing in a low timbre as Clint fought to figure out what was going on.

 

" _The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,_

_All merry, all happy, and bright,_

_By'n hard times comes a-knocking at the door,_

_Then my old Kentucky home, good night!"_

His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. Thor looked to his arm and bent it, testing it out and wiggling his fingers, gulping down air.

"You're going to be—" he didn't even get to finish his sentence before Thor went limp again and the visible pulse in his chest stopped completely. "Godammit!" Clint screamed. He placed his hand on top of the other and sat up, starting into CPR. Chest compressions were more important than introducing air back into the system.

 

" _The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,_

_With sorrow where all was delight,_

_The time has come when the people have to part,_

_Then my old Kentucky home, good night!"_

Suddenly his fingers were wet, and Clint jumped backwards at the flood of vibrant crimson. Thor was completely still, yet blood was pouring from him by the bucketload and spilling everywhere. His hands were sticky with it and he quickly pressed the discarded hoodie to the source of the bleeding, but found there was no cut or anything that could possibly cause this much bleeding, and there was no way to stop it. Death kept singing and the dog kept barking and everything was collapsing. He couldn't handle this—his partner was dying on the floor from invisible wounds!

 

" _A few more days of trouble all will end,_

_In the field where sugar-canes may grow,_

_A few more days for to tote the weary load,_

_No matter, 'twill never be light,_

_A few more days till we totter on the road,_

_Then my old Kentucky home, good night!"_

With a mighty scream, Thor burst back into the present. Clint's heart was going a mile a minute, and waiting for the god to flop back into unconsciousness. The bleeding had stopped at least, though that was no consolation.

"Thor?" he asked, "Are you—are you okay?"

The god didn't answer , clutching at his chest as if something was still ripping apart inside of him. The singing had stopped, but the dog was still barking so venomously that it was frothing at the mouth. The noise and confusion was pissing him off and he wanted to go up somewhere where the noise couldn't reach and just deconstruct and pick through what had just happened. But there wasn't time for that, and he doubted that Death was going to let them waltz out. That said, the man hadn't done anything but lounge on his chair and sing a song about Kentucky.

"What happened?" he tried to ask his friend, but the thunderer looked like he was having trouble doing much of anything, let alone talking to him.

"My arm will not move," Thor finally managed. Clint looked to the arm in question, and noticed that it looked relaxed—quite unlike the rest of the Asgardian. Thor's left arm seemed fine, and reached over to fuss with the right one, but nothing happened.

"It's not going to work again," the gravelly voice of Death broke their focus and both Avengers looked to the man. His eyes were pitch black now, just like War's and Conquest's had been—but with a different color, of course. The dog stopped barking.

"You can't affect us. Your powers don't work," Clint seethed. "So how is this happening?"

Death cocked a brow and a smirk settled on his lips. "The horsemen delve into power far greater than any human could fathom."

That didn't sound comforting. But they weren't dead yet, so he could be lying. Or something. Clint glanced at Thor, but the Asgardian was trying to wipe the blood from his chest in search of a wound that wouldn't be there. This was up to him. The archer took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, and settled into his training. He needed to stall until Thor recovered enough that they could escape.

"So, what, you guys have secret powers now?"

"They are not secrets. Surely you did your Biblical research as you did with War and Conquest?"

"Yeah, and now they're dead."

"Hmm, yes." The man rubbed his lips. "That was rather unexpected."

"Get used to it," Clint snapped, "because you're next."

"Is that so?" Death sat forward, cocking his head with a wicked grin. "Don't you want your friend to live?"

His blood chilled. "What do you mean? He's wearing a pendant."

"That may be so, but in a few hours he will die." The man stood, brushing off his jacket.

This wasn't good. This was awful, worse than awful. Death was telling the truth; Thor probably was going to die in a few hours—after all, the horseman was pulling all the strings.

"I don't know what the hell—"

"Hades," a new voice corrected. The man suddenly went limp and fell to the ground. Clint blinked in surprise and Thor jumped to attention, sitting up and leaning awkwardly with his good arm propped behind him. "Not Death."

They looked to see the pit bull, with eyes just as black as the man's had been.

"You're a dog?"

" _I looked before me and there was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind,"_  the dog growled, but its muzzle didn't move as it spoke.

"I thought dogs went to heaven," Clint said with a snarl.

" _Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they may have the right to the tree of life and that they may enter the city by the gates. Outside are the dogs and sorcerers and the sexually immoral and murderers—"_

"Okay, got it," he grumbled. "So what are you going to do then? Hold us hostage until your master shows up?"

The pit bull bared its teeth in a ferocious snarl that even made Thor flinch. "I think you've been ignoring a call." Clint thought back to his phone vibrating. "Good luck," came a throaty growl. He whipped around to glare at Hades, but the dog had vanished.

As if on cue, it started to buzz again. He fished it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Clint." It was Nick Fury, and he sounded out of breath. "We're missing a Norse god."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your support, 7,000 hits on AO3, wooo! Only 13,000 more to go to match with FF! xD Anyways, thank you all for reading, I hope you're enjoying it!


	23. Chapter 23

Tony was right, Churchill Downs wasn't the way it had been the last time Steve had visited. The paddock was a vibrant green, way too bright to be natural. Flowers popped from every crevice outside of the fences and created massive blankets of yellows, whites, reds and purples that looked more like a French painting than an actual place. Advertisements swung around like stock tickers, blaring colorful depictions of beer, bleached smiles and giant sun hats that showed what the grounds would look like on Derby Day. That was one thing that was pretty hard for him to get used to; the way every conceivable place in America was an advertising platform, even something as self-explanatory as a racetrack. Bet money on horses and try to win something. Only now people could bet online or a half a world away on the same race that was happening right this instant.

The stables weren't so abnormal though, he could at least take comfort in that. Not much changed when it came to horse care. Well, it probably had, he just didn't really notice. The floors were nothing but dusty, packed dirt, chopped up with hoof and boots prints from the stables residents. The walls were white, and the paint peeled at the edges where the cameras never looked. The sounds from the stands seemed to dim, giving way to lazy silence as the horses continued about their day, sticking their heads out from the openings in their stalls. Buckets sat outside, dirty and quite unlike the sanitized surroundings of the rest of the grounds. Steve peered into one to the stalls only to find a gleaming thoroughbred staring back at him from just inside, chewing on something as it watched him. The blanket on its back reminded him that this horse was probably worth more than most houses, as the cloth was decorated with gold stitches and a logo reading some stable name. Not a palomino though, so he moved on.

With Natasha, getting past the stable security had been pretty easy. All she had to do was give them a few looks, wink a couple of times, and drop her purse. All the while she was muttering curses and telling him all the signs he should look for to see if a girl was playing him or not. Steve found it pretty hilarious, but he had to look the part of the boring boyfriend—which wasn't that hard, considering Natasha still terrified him a little bit. Her talk with Tony hadn't gone well, and she wasn't in the best mood. It didn't seem to be noticed by the security officers, and when she asked to be shown where the paddock was (where they had just come from) both of the men left their posts to escort her. Steve had just slipped inside as another guard bolted over to keep watch.

At first he thought he would be out of place in a suit and tie, but half the men in the stables were just as dressy as he was. He guessed that they were the owners and trainers, seeing as they barely even glanced at their horses. They talked about money, and their wives talked about how to spend it. Steve almost got roped into a conversation about whether it was acceptable to wear a scarf with a button-down shirt, but he had thankfully slipped into a quiet row of stalls before that happened.

All of the horses seemed to be just the same as the first one he saw; chestnut, bay, or black. A few grays were speckled in between, but no palomino. A sharp whinny rang out from somewhere the next stable over and Steve would have ignored it if not for the "Ouch!" that came afterward. He sprinted across the packed earth (very difficult to do in dress shoes, he found out) until he saw a man cradling his hand. More interesting though, was the horse that was craning its neck out to try and bite the man again. Its coat was a pale gold, with an untrimmed flaxen mane that was longer than any other of the racehorses he had seen. On its forehead was a white star that extended partway down its snout before vanishing into creamy yellow. Steve knew it was Death's horse before he even noticed that its eyes were pitch black. He turned back to the man.

"You okay?"

"Yeah yeah, I'll be fine," said the man, shaking out his hand a few times. His brow cocked and he looked suspicious. "Are you supposed to be back here?"

Steve was awful at lying. When he wasn't lying to Nazis or public threats, that is. "Not exactly, but I heard you yell so I just figured—"

"Hey, are you Captain America?"

He had heard that question a thousand times since the Chitauri incident. No, I'm Steve Rogers, he wanted to say, but he refrained. At least it was one he could answer. "Uh, yes, I am."

"You got to be kidding me!" The man's eyes were wide. "My son loves you! Can I getta picture?" He pulled out a cell phone and Steve cocked a brow. Oh, right. Cell phones were cameras too.

"Sure, tell the little guy I said hello," The man stepped up beside him, grinning like a fool and holding the phone out Steve looked at the little circle at the top, assuming that was the camera part. He flashed a smile, and heard the mechanical clicking noise as the picture took.

"Ah, thank you!"

"No problem," Steve replied. "Now, uh, I'm on a mission. I'm going to need your help.

He may as well have asked the man to join the Avengers. The man's eyes went wide, and he pressed a hand to his heart, "Me?"

"Yes." His gaze flicked to the horse, who was now staring at him with nostrils flared and ears pinned straight back. "I'm going to need to know everything about this horse."

"Ah, you're here to hear about the horse, right?" the man nodded. "El caballo muerte."

Steve nodded and the man inspected his hand for a few more seconds before turning to face the beast. "Whole time he been here," the man sneered as he shook his head, "everything dies. If a horse beat him-dead. No one knows why, it just happens. He bites everything, every single person comes here, he bite them."

Steve nodded, then froze. He thought back to Conquest and what she had said about how their powers work. If the horseman touched someone, they were infected and the horsemen had full control of them. They had slight control over the people in their vicinity—like in Duck—but not enough to control them to do anything specific. The she had mentioned the horses and how Thor was infected by a bite that drew blood.

"How many people have been bitten?" he asked, voice now filled with slight panic.

"He's been here four weeks…thirty? Forty? I only hear about some of dem. Nasty bites too." The man lifted his hand, and Steve now saw the blood dripping from the wound, nothing serious, but it had broken the skin. Even if only half of the bites had wounded, that was somewhere around twenty people that could be under Death's complete control. The horseman was disguising himself, or maybe he wasn't even here at all. But if he was, they were all in big trouble. In fact, the guy standing next to him could be under the effects.

"You've been a great help, but I've got to go."

"Of course, goodbye Captain!"

He gave a final wave, and set off in a jog toward where he had said he would meet Natasha.

* * *

The crowd had grown, and weaving through the mass of people was incredibly difficult for a man in a hurry. Steve slipped past a group of school kids, and lightly moved a few people aside as he fought his way toward the statue they had agreed to meet by. Natasha's red hair was visible from the distance, but he didn't call out, in case Death was somewhere in the crowd. He focused on her a little too much though, and grunted as he ran into someone.

"You made me drop them!" he looked down to see a little girl and a scattering of dolls at her feet.

"Sorry," he said as he knelt to help her collect them. They blinked at him and Steve nearly jumped back to standing, but then realized that dolls were probably just short of living people these days with all the new technology. He grabbed one and the girl squealed, clawing into his wrist with tiny hands.

"Not her! Her arm is broken!" He retracted his hand, moving to pick up a few of the other dolls as the girl carefully picked up the "injured" one. Steve held out the others, and she tucked them under her arm, nuzzling each faux head of hair.

"All better?" Steve smiled, and the girl nodded. "I'm really sorry about that, I didn't see you. Where's your mom?"

"I'm with Daddy," she replied matter-of-factly, then shoved the broken doll in his face. "Say sorry to her too!"

He leaned back a bit, looking into the glassy blue eyes of the blonde doll. "I'm sorry."

"She says it's okay. She's looking for her siste—"

"You've got to stop wandering away from me!" An angry voice sounded over the crowd, and a young man scooped up the little girl before looking to Steve. "Sorry, I don't think she even knows who you are, she's just—"

Steve shook his head, "It's fine, really. It was my fault anyway, I bumped into her."

"Daddy, I want to tell him about my dolls!" She waved the doll in her father's face.

"I'm sure he has other things to do, sweetheart."

Steve gave him a thankful glance, eager to get over to Natasha to get her out of harm's way. "I'll hear about them next time, okay?"

She frowned, but nodded her head, burrowing into her father's shoulder. Steve waved himself off again and hurried through the crowd once more until he stumbled to a stop beside Natasha.

"Stand up, look professional." She fiddled with her watch as if she were still waiting for him.

"We've got a problem," Steve said breathlessly, before following her advice—well, command.

Her expression immediately changed to one of interest. "Did you find anything?"

"I found the horse. It's definitely Death's. Black eyes, pale. Problem is, it's bitten a couple dozen people in the time it's been here."

"And that means, what exactly?"

"If the horse draws blood, that person can be controlled. Remember? That was how Thor got captured." It was obvious she was distracted by something, but he didn't know what. He was guessing it had something to do with Clint, but he couldn't say for sure and asking about it would probably win him two black eyes.

She blinked, the distant look in her eyes vanishing. "So you're saying we have an unknown number of people who may have been bitten?"

"Yes."

"We could just look for bite wounds, couldn't we?"

"The man I talked to said the horse has been here for a month," Steve replied with a shake of his head. "Those wounds have probably already healed up on the first victims."

"And we aren't sure if Death is actually here either, or if he has been here in the past month, there could be a lot more victims than those with horse bites."

He hadn't even thought of that, and he was supposed to be the strategic one. Natasha was smart—stubborn and a bit quick-tempered—but smart. Anyone else would have gone with the number of bite wounds and been done with it. Tony probably would have donned his suit and flown back to the stables to try to blow the horse to pieces, but Natasha understood that this was a problem that had to be dealt with in relative secrecy.

"I say we go back to the stables and call Tony and get him down here. I don't want anyone going near that horse," said Steve, gazing through the crowd as though Death might appear before them.

"You think Stark is going to make this any better?"

"I don't know." He flashed her a glance, "But I think it would be worse if we left him out of this."

"He really doesn't care, Cap. He left us alone when he was supposed to stay with us."

"He's Tony." Steve shrugged, "You really expected him to stay?"

"That's the problem. There's a reason he wasn't initially invited to join the initiative," Natasha replied flatly. Steve avoided her gaze. They owed Tony a lot more than that. After all, Tony was the one who discovered the cure—actually, he created the cure when he built his reactor thing. Natasha had no right to judge him, she wasn't the one who had gone bar hopping with him or…he thought back to the battle between the two of them. Tony had been in his suit, but Steve could still hear the pain in Tony's voice when he had asked if he remembered the last words they had shared. Natasha hadn't seen that side of Tony Stark, the kind that felt guilty, who grieved the loss of a friend only to find that he wasn't really dead at all.

"I want him in. That's final," Steve finally replied, so quietly he figured Natasha had to have read his lips to understand.

Getting back inside the stables wasn't as difficult as Steve had anticipated. In fact, they walked right in. Natasha flashed a bright smile (which would always scare him to some extent) and threw her hand in the air, waving as if her sweetheart was in the cluster of suits and dresses. They didn't have ID tags, but neither did half of the people past the guards. Security gave them a once over—Natasha a twice-over—and parted to let them through. Nastasha practically dragged him past and he came pretty close to landing face first in the dirt. They mingled with the crowd, mostly just smiles and pretend recognition, only to avoid suspicion. Steve lead the way toward where Death's horse was being kept, and they began to distance themselves from the rest of the crowd. A few men called after them with rather colorful language and Steve felt his face redden.

"Oh, calm down." Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're acting like a tween."

"A what?"

"A teenager," she corrected herself. "Where's the horse?"

He pondered what in the world a tween was as they wandered to the next stable over. "It's right over—" he came to an abrupt halt, and Natasha slammed into him. An old man stood in front of the stall, staring oddly at the horse. Instead of looking angry, the stallion was calm, nibbling at the hay beside the door.

"Sorry, sir," Steve cleared his throat, "but we're going to have to ask you to leave."

The man's gaze turned to them, and it was obvious that he was blind. Natasha shot him a glance that he couldn't quite read.

"Leave?" The man's voice was weathered.

"Yes, this, uh—"

"This horse is under 24-hour protection. No one is to come within fifteen feet of that stall," Natasha said, finishing for him.

"Is that so?" The man idly tapped his cane on the concrete, "Who told you that?"

"The own-" Steve was cut off by an elbow to the ribs.

"The staff was told to keep watch, this horse is quite the superstar around here," Natasha finished with a smile as Steve clutched hit gut.

"I suppose he does have quite the reputation. Don't you?" the man smiled at nothing, but the horse snorted in response, craning its neck out to try and grab a bite. Steve immediately stepped forward and the horse turned, lashing out and going for his arm. With a shrill cry it snapped only air as his serum reflexes kicked in, once again saving him from harm. He stepped back, staring into the dead black eyes of the stallion. It was strange, no matter which way the light reflected in them there were no pupils, just ink-black pools that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. Yet he continued staring because he had an odd sense that he would find something there if he only moved a little closer, then the black would fall away to reveal—

"Rogers." Natasha's voice snapped him from his momentary daze. He blinked, and the horse's head bobbed ever so slightly with each breath, silently calling him back. There was definitely something there, and he could feel it tugging at his mind even as he turned back to Natasha.

"What?" he finally replied.

"Please escort this gentleman to the proper area." She threw a shoulder behind her to the end of the stable where two more guards were positioned.

"That's quite alright Miss," the man chuckled. "This is my horse." Steve blinked in surprise, but Natasha only looked frustrated.

"I know, but, as you said, his reputation is causing quite a stir," she shrugged. "He'll be racing soon, and it'd probably be best if you were back in your seat."

Steve didn't hear the man's response. Something was pulling at his thoughts.  _Turn around. Turn around._  A mantra in his brain, calling him to just take a moment and look again into the horse's eyes. He tried to shake it, but that only seemed to make it worse. This was a bad sign. He brought a hand to his chest, rubbing his thumb along the groove of his pendant just to make sure it was still there. Everything started to fuzz, only the pulsing reminder that he should turn and look was breaking through the haze. Shapes were moving in front of him, voices were rising, but he didn't know what they were saying.

The horse whinnied, and it was as if he had been drowning and was finally given a breath of hair. Everything cleared at once, and the man was nearing the horse, extending a hand to touch it.

"Hey, don't!" He grabbed the man's hand and it felt like he had grabbed a corpse, but he held on, jerking the man backward. "That horse will bite you, sir," he started leading the man away amidst grumbled curses. "I'm sorry."

"Steve!" Natasha's voice reached his ears and he looked up just as something sent him flying into a post. The wooden beam snapped in half at the impact and Steve's vision went white with pain, but he was also conscious of something holding on to him, crushing the wind from his lungs as the pale autumn sky peered down at him, almost as bright as the pictures he'd seen on the television screens.


	24. Chapter 24

Tony hadn't exactly planned to tackle Steve to the ground, per say, but he couldn't deny that the Captain had it coming. After all, grabbing Death's arm didn't really bode well for the future. Donning his suit had taken five seconds too long (JARVIS counted) and in that five seconds Steve had gone from a trippy hypnotist patient to an idiot and had grabbed Death to pull him away from his own horse. Okay, so maybe they hadn't really known it was Death, and yeah, maybe it was his fault for not telling them, but still. He supposed that it also didn't matter that he had tackled Steve away because initial contact was all that was needed for the powers to take effect. So he got a little excited. Whatever.

The dust, dirt, and pine shavings began to settle and Tony lifted his metal-plated head. Lying on top of someone wasn't exactly comfortable in his suit, especially when he was still wearing and actual suit underneath. Maybe that was why he never had it on in the bedroom. Well, that and other reasons—okay, that was probably not what he should be thinking about while body-suffocating Steve Rogers. That would be weird.

"Looking a little hazy there, Cap," he greeted, pressing off of him and standing up again. "But I can't really let you die on me just yet." A flicker of guilt rattled his bones as Steve began to cough, clutching at the burn wound on his side that refused to heal. The wound he had caused.

"Tony?" Steve squinted up at him as if it were someone else wearing a red and gold suit of armor in broad daylight.

"Hey, I never got to thank you for leaving me alone back there, that was really nice of you." Moment over. He extended a hand, and Steve gripped it, coughing a few times as Tony pulled him up.

"Sorry, I tried."

Tony grinned behind the faceplate. "No problem. You might want to be careful though, I heard Clint is the jealous type."

"What did you say?" Natasha's hiss cut into their conversation, and Tony turned to wave as she cuffed the old man.

"Nothing, Raggedy Ann."

"I found Death's horse," Steve said as he brushed the dust from his suit jacket.

Tony didn't have the heart to tell him that there was no way to salvage Louis Vuitton by rubbing it with grimy hands. "Yeah, I can see that. Any other secrets you two are keeping from me?"

The Captain sighed. "Tony, I already told Natasha to tell yo—"

"Can it, Bomb Pop." He stared at Natasha and she wound up like an angry tigress.

"You're blaming me? You're the one flying in here and breaking things," her eyes flicked to the splintered beam, "I'm trying to complete a mission, and all you've succeeded in doing is attracting the press."

He shrugged. "I can't help but be famous. And charming. And downright good-looking. It's not my fault."

"You're going to get us all killed," the spy snapped.

"You know, if you have a problem with my appearance, you should probably talk to my dad. Except he's, well, dead."

"Tony…" Steve's voice was low with warning.

"No, no, if she wants to talk about daddy issues, let's go."

"What?" Natasha gave him a disgusted look. "I'm not here to talk about your father, I'm here to figure out what the hell is going on!"

"Excuse me for not trusting you, you're the one who snooped around in my company and—"

"Tony, stop," Steve interjected, clapping a hand on his metal shoulder. Tony hadn't realized he had even stepped forward at all, but there he was, blasters coming to life at his hands.

"It might be a wise idea to listen to the Captain, sir," JARVIS said in his ear. His blood was pumping, his eyes were alight with rage that he didn't even know he had. Maybe he didn't, not toward Natasha anyway.

"Howard was a good—"

"Don't you dare—" he shoved Steve backward, "call him a good anything."

Steve held his LED gaze. "Tony, you know I didn't—"

"Yeah, you did, Steve. That's exactly what you meant. " The image of Steve screaming came back to him, and he relived the moment where the super soldier had cracked his vibranium shell,  _"Your father was everything you aren't! He wouldn't sit there and watch me die!"_ He swallowed, giving Steve one last shove against the wall that made him grunt. He turned back to Natasha before flipping up his faceplate with a scowl.

"I'll pretend that I actually like you, Lohan." His gaze flicked to Death. "Why haven't you killed him yet?"

Natasha shot him a glare, "Because I don't know if this is actually Death."

"Okay, well, I do. This was the creepy guy in the VIP lounge."

The old man just stood there, handcuffed and murmuring curses under his breath.

"He could just be under Death's control, Tony."

"His eyes turned black."

"Mine turned red," she replied quietly. Tony almost shivered; remembering the way the Bruce had been right in his face when his eyes filled to the brim with crimson.

"Yeah, well, that was different. We knew who you were, we don't know who this guy is." He lifted a hand, palm facing out. "I'll do it if you're too scared."

"Let's just bring him back to base and see what we can find," Steve offered, stumbling into the conversation.

"He's loaded with radiation, Jarvis scanned him. It's Death."

"What if you're just catching the horse? We can't—" Natasha paused, then popped open her clutch purse to pull out her phone. She glanced at both of them before picking it up.

"Clint?"

Tony and Steve traded glances. Natasha's face was unreadable.

"Okay," she gave a curt nod as though Clint could see her, and tapped her phone to put it on speaker.

"Hate to say it, but we beat you to Death," Tony chuckled, but Natasha glared at him. "Oh come on, it's a joke. Beat him to Death? Beat him to death? Get it?"

"That wasn't half bad, actually," Clint said.

"Thank you. At least someone is smart enough to appreciate my humor."

"Well, you might have found Death, but we found Hades."

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah—I am, at least," the archer replied. "Hades is in the body of a pitbull."

"A bull?" Steve cocked a brow.

"It's a dog, Capsicle," Tony replied quickly, wanting Clint to get on with what happened. "What did he want?"

"We don't know, but he used some weird mojo magic stuff on Thor. He was dead for a good thirty seconds, then his chest started bleeding all over the place but there weren't any wounds. Anyway, he's fine now, but his arm won't move."

Tony blinked. "Was he…wearing his pendant?" It was the question on everyone's mind, the one that would determine if they were safe from Death at all.

"Yeah, he was. Hades said he only had a few hours left. " Clint's voice was quiet and the news settled over the three Avengers like a bucketful of ice water had been tossed from above. Great. They apparently weren't safe and Thor was supposedly going to die. Steve—and Natasha, now that he thought about it—had both touched Death too. Tha left Bruce, Clint, and him, and they could only hope that the other three wouldn't keel over.

"That's not the worst of it either. Loki escaped."

"Well that's one hell of a sucker punch to face," Tony snorted, turning around to face the tiny patch of grass between the stables where a pile of wood pieces still sat.

"Thor knows where he is. Apparently when you're dead, you get to see where your brother is headed off to."

"Where did he go?" Steve asked, his face grim.

"A cave system. We had Bruce run some numbers, and judging on the description, it's Mammoth Caves," the archer replied. There was a muffling on the other end of the line and the gravely undertone of Thor's voice was heard, although it was incoherent.

"That's not far from here," said Natasha, looking up at Tony. He nodded, but got the feeling that this was a trap. He hated being underground, and going after a delusional Norse god didn't seem like a smart idea inside a perfectly collapsible cavern.

"Yep," Clint replied, "Bruce is on a plane right now, and Thor and I are almost to the airport. If you guys leave right now, we'll all get there about the same time."

Tony looked to the old man, who had gone silent. "We're a little busy at the moment."

"Well, hurry up and get unbusy, because Loki has a death warrant for Goldilocks here."

"We'll do what we can, thanks Clint." Natasha took a deep breath.

"No problem. See you guys soon. Bye, Tash." With that, the call ended.

"Bye, Tash," Tony repeated in a singsong voice, fluttering his eyelashes. Natasha looked as if she might tear his throat out with her teeth, causing his smirk to widen. She was probably about to spew some insult at him, but refrained and turned back to Death.

"We still don't know if he's actually Death."

"Well, even if he isn't, that's one less creepy old man off the streets."

"There's a way to tell," Natasha said, meeting his eyes. He didn't like that look.

"What is it?"

"When I fought War, I touched him with my pendant." Her voice was subdued, and he was guessing the memory was a little more than just casually placing a pendant on the horseman. "It didn't do anything to him. They only work against their powers, the actual horseman is immune."

"So?" he said, crossing his arms. He didn't know where this was going, but he didn't like it.

"When you put the pendants on Steve, Thor, and I, it threw us from our connection with the horsemen. If this man is Death, that won't happen. If it isn't…" she trailed off for a moment, "we'll know."

"But that mean's that we have to take off one of our pendants," Steve murmured with a flicker of something in his eyes. Tony chewed his lip—it had to be either Natasha or Steve, he couldn't exactly rip out his arc reactor to use in a test.

"Natasha, you do it," he blurted out when he noticed Steve preparing to speak. "Steve and I can hold you back if you get possessed." She stared at him for a moment, and his heartbeat actually quickened in nervousness that she would see the real reason why he wanted her to go first. Steve was not going to die on his watch, no way.

"Fine," she relented, and pulled off her hat before slipping her necklace over her head. She tossed the hat to the floor and stepped over to the man. Both Tony and Steve tensed as if waiting for her to drop dead right there in front of them. Not so far off from what could actually happen. She took a visible breath and placed the pendant around the old man's neck.

It took a few moments, but then the man started to go nuts. It was a good thing that they had him in handcuffs, cause the guy started thrashing around like a rabid gorilla. Natasha jumped backwards and glanced back at him with what he swore was a victorious smile—which pissed him off big time.

But instead of coming to after a few moments of snarling and black-eyed glares, the man slumped the ground and rotted right before their eyes.

"That is gross," Tony said with a lip curled in disgust. The man kept decomposing, his clothes too; his skin wilted, his mouth went slack jawed, and his hands became nothing but yellowish bone. Thank god it didn't smell as bad as it looked. Then, when there was nothing left but a skeleton, it turned to dust, blending perfectly with the stable floor.

Tony was immediately concerned. This apparently wasn't Death after all (though he wasn't going to admit that), but worse yet, instead of becoming unpossessed, the man had died.

"Well," Natasha said after a moment, "now we know not to take off our pendants."

Steve nodded once, then looked down at his hands.

"You're not infected," Tony assured him, though he didn't actually know. No, Steve was still wearing his pendant, so he wasn't. Right? The old man's raven cane looked up at him, onyx eyes glaring and hostile. He stomped on it and it snapped in half. Natasha retrieved her pendant from the dust pile and slipped it on.

"We should get back to the car and get out of here," the billionaire said.

"What about the horse?" Steve asked and Tony shot him a glare.

"Look, don't you think something fishy is going on here? With Loki, I mean."

The Captain blinked then gave a little shrug. "Yeah, but we can't just leave Death's horse here to infect more people."

"Really, Steve?" Tony took a step forward, his temper flaring up again. "Do you remember what Loki was using to try and kill Thor?"

"N—"

"No, you don't. Because you were in a heap on the ground, sobbing like a little girl," he snapped.

"That wasn't exactly my fault," Steve retaliated.

Tony took a step forward and the Captain immediately took a step back. "It was your fault. What'd she do to you? Hold your hand, tell you it's gonna be all right?" One look at Conquest and he had known what caused Steve to fall for her trap, she was a blonde bombshell, and he was willing to bet even Nick Fury would try to ask her out on a date. Steve swallowed, but couldn't find anything to say. So it was true. "I hate to break it to you, Man With A Plan, but she's wrong. It's not going to be all right."

"Would you stop?" Steve's eyes narrowed and the billionaire was reminded of the look he had seen before Captain America went after him with his shield. Good, let him get angry. "You're supposed to be a hero, Tony. We all are. We're not supposed to be insulting each other over whether or not we should do something with Death's pedigree thoroughbred!"

"We aren't heroes, Steve." He took another step forward, a snarl on his face. He hated that word even though he used it to describe himself sometimes. It was as if anyone could be a hero if they helped someone; walk an old woman across the street and suddenly you're the next Iron Man. The government had been asking for suits, trying to bribe him into it by saying that they'd only give them to soldiers with hero-esque qualities. Like Steve Rogers. The last thing he wanted was some do-good idiot flying around in one of  _his_  suits.

"Yes, Tony, we are. I am, at least." Steve looked like he was sizing him up and that got him so riled he couldn't se straight.

"You are not a hero. Heroes don't mope around—heroes don't wallow in their loneliness because heroes don't magically get unfrozen from ice blocks in the middle of nowhere!" He stabbed the Captain with a metal finger. "Come to think of it, what if you're Death? Pretty convenient that you came to life again after seventy years of being dead." Steve blinked at him, his mouth falling open in silent protest. "That doctor might've been a good scientist, but he wasn't that good. You were a prototype, you should have some flaws. Anti-aging? Give me a break."

He saw Natasha sidle a bit closer, but she hadn't said anything yet so he couldn't care less. "Also pretty convenient that you weren't with me when Thor went berserk."

"He wasn't with me either," Natasha added, crossing her arms. Tony blinked, then his eyes narrowed again. Maybe he was actually right.

"Pretty neat trick, Ste—Death. Conquest pretending to control you? Good one."

Steve shook his head, "Tony, I'm not Death! What are you talking about?"

"Tony's right. And earlier you had a fascination with Death's horse. War seemed pretty protective of his," said Natasha. She was looking at Steve like he was some sort of prisoner. Kind of hot, actually.

"I'm not Death!" Steve cried, "Are you both insane?" Cap looked helpless, and as he and Natasha moved closer, fear began to cloud Steve's eyes. "I don't know why I'm still alive, okay? I wasn't exactly thrilled to be in the 21st century either. I live in a damn retirement community because I can't function with normal people. Tony-" Blue eyes leveled at him, begging for him to understand. Understand a lie. "you were the only person who tried to bring me into real life by going bar hopping!"

"So? You've been waiting in the wings a long time, Death."

"Y-you remember what you told me at the beginning of all of this" About the appletinis?"

Tony swallowed, going back to when Steve had left the room during their first briefing. He'd threatened (in a joking way) that he would tell about the time Steve had gotten drunk on girl drinks—the first time Steve had ever actually drank any serious alcohol. "Yeah."

"I wasn't drunk, Tony. I haven't been able to get drunk for almost seventy-three years. "

Somewhere in his mind he had known that he serum prevented intoxication, but he had thought that part of the serum had worn off over time to allow Steve to get drunk again. "That doesn't change anything. You're in Steve's body."

"You don't even remember that night, do you?"

He swallowed. "There are a lot of black spots in my memory, thanks for reminding me."

"You took out your arc reactor. To show some girl what it was."

He had no recollection of that—he wouldn't dream of taking out his reactor, no matter how drunk. At least, he hoped not.

"If I were Death, I could have killed you right then. No one would have questioned it, they would have just thought you died of cardiac arrest or whatever the press told them." Tony could see the fear in Steve's eyes as he spoke, but he wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid of being found out or if he was afraid they were going to do something. Probably both.

"You know, you have been acting weird lately." Tony took another step forward. "The whole be-nice-to-Tony act has been going on a little long. What happened to thinking I was annoying, huh? What happened to not wanting to leave your little condo in Old Folks Ville?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer just as Tony caught a flicker of movement behind the blond. "I'm telling you—" Steve was cut off by a sharp cry from Death's horse as it sunk its teeth into his shoulder. The bite was hard enough to cause Cap to scream in pain, and for blood to gush from the wound as the horse yanked him to the right, eyes black. Realizing that Steve was in serious pain and coming to the conclusion that Death's horse probably wouldn't try to kill its owner, Tony pulled back a fist and punched the horse square in the cheek. The stallion released its hold enough for Steve to jump away.

The air stilled for a moment, even the horse had stopped moving just to stare at the Captain. When he stood up, Tony noticed that his eyes were black, but when he blinked, they glowed arc reactor blue before fading back to normal.

"The girl with the dolls."

"Excuse me?" Tony snorted incredulously.

Steve gripped his shoulder and the billionaire watched as his hand came away smeared with red. "The little girl with the dolls," Steve repeated.

Suddenly Tony understood that Hades wasn't joking. Thor was going to die.


	25. Chapter 25

Bruce, for one, thought things were going better than expected. Part of him had thought that he was going to be the only one left from the Avengers Initiative when he sent Clint and Thor off. He felt a bit like a coward for staying behind, but he and the Other Guy hadn't completely come to terms with each other yet, and the Hulk didn't seem to understand that the horsemen were not to be touched and that killing Loki wasn't a good idea. So he locked himself away to focus on other things: pinpointing horsemen radiation, scouring data files and security camera footage with SHIELD agents to see if Death had shown up anywhere (not that they knew what to look for).

They listened into the team radios as Tony and Natasha had their showdown and Bruce couldn't help but worry. Fighting amongst themselves had always been a point of concern for him—and part of his hesitation to join the Avengers in the first place. They were powerful people that shouldn't be together, they should be galaxies apart from each other. Not just because they were prone to being aggressive and dominant, but because they attracted things. He didn't think the horsemen would be the last thing to plague them—if they survived, that is. Other creatures would show up sooner or later and Loki was child's play compared to what had to be out there. Chitauri foot soldiers had been a suitable foe, and they were common grunts in their army.

Perhaps that was just his nervous nature coming out. Even so, it didn't change the fact that they had no idea what was going in their universe and that they were extremely lucky they had gotten the God of Thunder before the God of Mischief. If Thor hadn't decided to come down to earth, they might all be under Loki's control. Maybe that was why the horsemen were coming out, to get rid of earth before something else did. That was how the apocalypse was supposed to go, right? He didn't really know and had been contemplating things of that nature when every alarm in SHIELD headquarters started going off.

The Other Guy put up a pretty good fight to get out and see what was going on for himself, but Bruce had managed to fight him down while going to see what was happening. His immediate guess had been Loki, and he'd been right. The god had vanished without so much as a trace. Security feeds showed him slumped against the wall of his cell one moment, wake up from an apparent snooze (Bruce doubted he was actually sleeping) and then…gone. The muzzle they had somehow thought would actually contain him was the only thing left behind, but Loki himself didn't leave so much as a fingerprint on the glass of his cage. Not entirely unexpected.

Soon after that they figured out what had happened to Thor and Bruce's immediate inkling was that Loki had something to do with it. In hindsight, he probably did, but not on the level he'd been considering. Clint had told him that Thor had some sort of vision about caves. A few minutes later and they'd figured out that Loki was talking about Mammoth Caves. The perfect place for an array of traps, and much too suffocating for the Other Guy. He knew it was a trap—they all did. Yet he packed up all the stuff—Mjolnir, Clint's bow, Natasha's Black Widow outfit (Clint insisted that he would need a wardrobe change), Steve's suit and shield, Tony's Mark VII armor, and a first aid kit (pointless, he knew). Within an hour he was on a plane headed for Kentucky.

And now he was here, standing in the wreckage of what used to be the welcome center for Mammoth Caves. Thick lumber posts had been splintered to bits, the roof had mostly collapsed, and a giant poster about bat conservation was still burning in the entryway. Nick Fury had gotten there first and Bruce didn't ask if anyone died. He really didn't want to know. Seeing it was enough, and judging by the lack of press and overabundance of agents, this wasn't Death's doing. If it had been, Fury wouldn't have allowed anyone on the premises. This was Loki.

"Is he still here?" Bruce asked as he picked through the rubble to where Fury stood in the wreckage where he guessed the welcome desk had once been.

"Does it look like he's still here?" Fury cast him a sideways glance

"Well he's still around here somewhere. Thor said he saw him in the cave."

"Fantastic," the director said with a sarcastic smile. "That's wonderful."

Bruce swallowed uncomfortably, glancing around the massive building. Though, it was actually just a structure now, since it was missing the whole back wall it technically wasn't a building anymore. Pieces of debris were still falling from overhead, but Bruce wasn't really worried about getting hit by anything. The Other Guy was something of a hard hat for him. Fury didn't seem too worried about it either and Bruce wouldn't be surprised if concrete pieces avoided hitting him because the director's anger created some sort of forcefield.

"When's everyone getting here?" Fury asked suddenly.

Bruce tugged at his collar. "Clint's getting here any minute. I haven't gotten an update on Tony." Tony, Steve, and Natasha had stayed at Churchill Downs a little longer to deal with something. Tony hadn't really explained and hung up before any of them could ask any questions. All they knew was that Steve had been bitten, but not to worry because he was acting fine (Bruce worried anyway) and that they had it under control (he doubted that). But they had no choice, Tony cut off all radio access.

"They better hurry the hell up," Fury grumbled, glaring at a dangling piece of timber and both of them watched it fall and crack in half on impact with the ground. "Agent Hill," the director called, and Maria turned from a group of other agents and headed over.

"Yeah?"

"Remind me to talk to Thor about magic when this is all over," Fury said.

"Sir, Thor doesn't know any magic," Maria replied calmly.

"I didn't ask whether or not Thor knew magic, I asked to you to remind me to talk to him about it when this is all over."

"Of course, sir." Agent Hill nodded curtly and Fury dismissed her with a blink of his eye. Bruce shifted uncomfortably. He didn't really want to be here anymore. He had always hated being around people in uniform. He'd never really trusted SHIELD in the first place either, and the only reason he agreed to join the Avengers—though it was more forced than anything—was because he had kind of wanted to meet the rest of them. A collection of freaks and superhumans, just like him. Except they could control their powers, Tony had even built himself his own powers. Even so, he had wanted to see if he could actually do some good in the world. He still wasn't sure if he'd succeeded.

Fury suddenly looked to the sky and a moment later Bruce heard the whurring of chopper blades and both men immediately headed for the exit to meet Clint and Thor. The helicopter settled on an impossibly small grass clearing, and for a moment Bruce thought that one of the blades might send a tree heading their way. SHIELD helicopters were built to withstand alien monsters and mutants, so he was betting that the tree would snap before the blades did. But the pilot did his job and landed safely.

When Clint emerged from the belly of the chopper Bruce knew that the events that had taken place in Michigan were probably worse than the archer had said they were. Barton's eyes were dead and his entire body looked fatigued. So much for that good night's sleep the day before. Thor didn't look too much better, and Bruce noticed that the thunder god looked extremely pale. His left arm hung limp at his side, useless in any sort of fight. Bruce swallowed thickly. This wasn't going to be good.

"Evening, Director," Clint greeted, nodding to Fury.

"Looks like you've had a long day," Fury said, returning the gesture.

"Yeah, I'm about ready to end it." Clint looked to the destroyed welcome center. "Loki?"

"Yes."

Thor flinched, and a wave of prickling discomfort started up Bruce's spine. He didn't like seeing other people in pain—emotional or physical, but Clint either didn't notice or didn't care.

"You know, I kinda thought he was going to come around. How many casualties?"

Fury shrugged. "No clue. Haven't counted 'em yet. Somewhere around two dozen."

"Kids?"

"A lot of kids."

Silence stretched between the four of them and Bruce was almost positive he could see Thor shaking, but he couldn't tell if it was from fear, anger, or sadness. Maybe all three. The scientist decided not to dwell on the subject of dead children, knowing that it would only succeed in making him angry and upset. He needed to stay calm and not get too antsy before Tony and crew showed up.

"I brought your stuff," he said stupidly. Clint blinked and looked over as if just noticing his presence.

"Come on, it's over here." Bruce started for one of the SHIELD cars and Clint followed with a grim expression. The air was burning his lungs as silence came upon them again, as if all of his words were being smoked out before they could leave his throat. It probably had something to do with the ash that fogged the perimeter of the building. Probably.

He stopped at the door and swung it open before leaning down to pop the trunk. Everything was tucked neatly inside, ready and waiting for its owners. Clint's face relaxed a bit once he grabbed hold of his bow, and Bruce immediately felt better too. Thor approached slowly,and grabbed Mjolnir with his working hand. For a moment Bruce thought he wouldn't lift it, but then Thor slid his wrist through the leather strap and swung the hammer up into his palm. Thor's face didn't brighten.

"Did you bring my clothes?" Clint asked. His voice sounded muffled and distant. Bruce nodded and rummaged through the trunk until he found the purple and black outfit. The archer nodded a wordless thanks before stripping down and slipping into his outfit. Bruce decided hat he hated silence, but Thor spoke before he did.

"Did he say anything before he escaped?"

"No," said Bruce. "Well, I don't know. I wasn't there. But the security feeds showed him sitting there and the next minute he was gone."

"Tell him what you saw, Thor," Clint urged as he pulled on his archery wristbands. They probably had a fancy name, but Bruce didn't know anything about archery.

Thor cleared his throat. "I saw my brother in a dark place. This, the Cave of Mammoths. Death was present, and I could not see anything but Loki. I could feel the horseman's powers—it was a colder presence than Jotunheim."

"Jotunheim is a really cold planet-thing," Clint interrupted.

Thor nodded once before continuing, "Loki told me that I was to bring my companions. That we would find Death here, and that I would find him. He also said that we would all be exposed."

Bruce thought he was going to say more, but the quiet rushed in again. "Exposed? Is that a threat?"

"I do not know. After he spoke to me, I was sent away."

"Maybe we shouldn't go inside there. It's got to be a trap."

"I'm pretty sure that's the point," Clint said with a grim expression. Their eyes locked, but Bruce couldn't look away. "You ever been hunting before, Banner?"

"No. It never really seemed appealing to go shoot animals for fun," he replied, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

Clint chuckled. "Somehow I knew you'd say that. Anyway, when you hunt with a bow, it's different. You can't just shoot anywhere and expect the deer to fall. Your shot has to be strong, clean, and go right through the heart." The archer ran his finger up the bowstring. "It's pretty easy to miss the heart though, and you often hit the lung. Then the deer runs away, and you have to chase it. Sometimes they run for miles, other times they only go a few feet. But they all come to the realization that they're going to die."

Bruce didn't really like this story. Thor didn't seem to either, but Clint went on anyway.

"And when they come to that realization, they do one of two things. The either fight back, or give up. There's no more escaping, or running around. What we've got here is us with an arrow in our lung. I don't know about you, but I'm done running away from the horsemen, from Loki, and I think they're done running too. This is gonna end here—it has to. Too many people are already dead."

Bruce knew he was right—but walking into a trap knowing it was a trap? What if Death wasn't in there at all, if it was just Loki and they all ended up dead for nothing? Another hunk of debris fell in the distance, and the sharp crack of splintering wood send shivers up his spine. Kids. Children died here today because they hadn't been able to hold on to Loki. Innocent lives lost and claimed by Death—gone, all because of their unwillingness to deal with the horsemen head on. Clint was right, they couldn't wait around anymore.

He readjusted his glasses. "I'm in."

Clint just smiled at him. "Yeah, I thought so."

A half hour later the sun had begun to dip, turning the sky bright orange. Bruce wasn't too worried about Tony, well, that's what he told Clint anyway. Clint, Thor, and Bruce helped position security camera at every (known) entrance to the caves on park property, which as something around fifteen. They helped clean up crews and Bruce tried not to think about how long Thor might have left. It had been something close to three hours since he'd been attacked, not that Bruce was counting.

"Sometimes I worry about them, ya know?" Clint said as he hoisted a piece of roof paneling up over his shoulder.

"Who?" Bruce asked, cocking a brow as he continued sweeping up glass shards.

"Natasha and Tony. And Steve, a little bit." The archer grunted as he tossed the paneling into the debris pile they'd started. "I mean, Natasha's a human. Tony's a human in a metal suit. I feel it sometimes too, like I'm the weak link. You and Thor? Clint snorted, "You guys are the big guys. I'm pretty sure Steve is up there more than the rest of us. The guy got blasted by Tony and didn't die. That's something."

Bruce shook his head. "Believe me, it's much better being human. I get to be one half the time—if you can even call it that."

"You're a human, Bruce," Clint chuckled. "Until you go green, of course."

The scientist gave a small smile. "I know I make a bigger deal out of it than he does, but I think Steve has it worst. I read some of the reports on him from after he was thawed out. There was one time he—"

A hellish roar sounded outside. Thor immediately dropped the piece of granite countertop in his hand and bolted for the door. Bruce and Clint started into a sprint after him. It was Tony's Ferrari screaming down the gravel road toward the debris field. Bruce bit his lip, anxious to see what they had found. When the car screeched to a stop, Tony tumbled out with the lights still on. He looked awful.

"Thank god," the billionaire huffed. He turned back to the car, "It's okay guys, Thor isn't dead."

Tony came up to the thunderer with a doll in his hand, one with hair that looked like it had been cut straight from Thor's head. The Aesir looked at it like it was a demon.

"Voodoo," Tony announced. "This little girl was carrying around doll versions of Thor, Steve, and I. She touches us, then her dad—who, in case you didn't know, is Death—makes creepy robot voodoo dolls." He turned back to Thor. "I'm giving this to Fury to hold on to. Sorry about your arm, by the way, I figured you'd want your heart working."

Thor just blinked at him. Bruce didn't know what to think. Voodoo dolls? That seemed a little pagan for the Biblical Apocalypse.

"So did you get Death then?" Clint asked in disbelief.

Natasha came up to stand next to Tony and shook her head. "He told us to meet him at the caves, then vanished. The horse was gone too—and the little girl. But we got the dolls, and I'm assuming after Death dies they won't work anymore."

"Assuming," Bruce grumbling.

"What happened?" Steve asked, looking over at the welcome center.

"Loki happened," Clint growled in response.

Silence settled in yet again as the Avengers looked at one another. They were all covered in dust and dirt from their respective travels, and all of them looked uneasy but alert. Finally, Thor stepped forward and grabbed Tony in a bear hug. The bilionaire began to shove him away, but it didn't really work until he started sputtering for breath.

"Thank you," Thor rumbled.

Tony slapped him on the shoulder a few times, "No problem, Care Bear. "

When the two finally broke apart, Tony turned to Bruce next and grabbed him in a rare hug. The scientist grunted in surprise, but then returned it awkwardly. It spurred a show of affection from all of them—even Natasha gave Clint a quick embrace. Maybe that's what happened when all of them were exhausted and literally dealing with Death.

"So," Steve said after their goodwill had been shared, "how are we going to do this?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> forgive all the POV switching x.e

Thor was no stranger to caves. Muspelheim was riddled with dark caverns that often held creatures so ugly that it was obvious why they dwelled in darkness. Tony assured him that there was nothing living in these Caves of Mammoths, though Bruce explained to him that mammoths were indeed a creature and not just a name. If these caves were named after a creature, who was to say that those creatures did not dwell inside? Thus, he entered the dark cavern with Mjolnir in hand and a Midgardian head candle. He had wanted a torch, but Tony pointed out that he only had one working arm, and Thor relented that yes, it probably would not be a wise idea to use a torch with only one working arm.

The head candle was helpful, but strange. He would much rather light the way by fire, not allow his enemies to see directly where to hit. Especially Loki. He sighed as he made his way down the carved out steps with Bruce tagging close behind. It still pained him that his brother was once again fighting against him. In the span of the last few years Loki had betrayed him so many times Thor wasn't sure he could count them all. He didn't know why either, each time he asked he was met with a verbal lashing, a barrage of 'Of course you wouldn't know, oaf' and other such words.

Yet he had been foolish enough to think that Loki had finally healed. That his brother was going to live a happy life on Asgard and leave the terrors of past years behind. Perhaps he would have, if Thor had not been so foolish as to bring him to Midgard. Leaving Loki in Asgard would only make Thor nervous, but now he would gladly give his soul just to be able to go back and follow Loki's wishes. The bitterness he had seen in his vision was terrifying, a loathing far deeper than any hatred he had ever seen before. It was as if he were the cause of everything that had ever wronged Loki in life.

Perhaps he was.

Thor turned to Bruce. "I do not plan to seek Death. I plan to find Loki and discuss what had lead him to go against me once more."

Bruce gave him an awkward smile. "Yeah, I kinda figured. That's why I picked to go with you—I can handle myself. I'll go with you though, until you find him. Though I would love to see a 'discussion' between the two of you."

Thor smiled, but he didn't mean it. He had no desire to fight Loki—he never had since they were children. Each brawl between them was painful, not just in the physical sense. Thor was much stronger than his brother when not controlled by the horsemen. Even after Loki's possession by Conquest had ended, if Thor hadn't been so bloodied already he was confident he could have bested the younger prince. But 'what ifs' had no place in battle, that was something Thor knew very well.

The head candle illuminated a small cavern that was mostly fallen in. The mortals who owned the caves insisted that most of the entrances were blocked, and this was one of the few that wasn't. Even so, other mortals had not visited it in close to a century—and on Midgard, that was a long time. Loki was here though, he could feel it—it was impossible not to feel the presence of hatred as strong as what Loki held for him. Thor swallowed and edged deeper into the darkness, turning his head to point the light at the cavern walls. Unlike Muspelheim, there were no hanging snakes or rock hounds, only tiny furry creatures.

"Don't shine the light on them, Thor," Bruce murmured.

"Why, will it attract the mother?"

"What? Oh, er—no. Those are bats. If you disturb their sleep it can throw them off."

"You mean they will fall to the ground and perish?" Thor asked. How odd!

"No, they'll just—just don't shine the light on them unless you have to, okay?"

Thor nodded and continued walking toward the gaping hold staring at them in the eerie gloom. Loki was here somewhere, and Thor was going to find him.

 

* * *

 

Steve didn't like dark places. Caves were always a little creepy, no matter how many times the brochures said that they were the homes of a bunch of old tribes and the scariest thing inside was a bat. Bats could be plenty scary—he was surprised someone hadn't used them as their superhero symbol in all the years he'd been gone. Asleep, whatever. Caves were unearthly quiet, and the tiny noises of bat squeaks were all that he could hear as he continued down a well worn path toward the main cavern.

"Don't be so talkative," Tony said with a roll of his eyes. Actually, Steve couldn't tell if his eyes were rolling, but it sounded like something Tony would say whilst rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," he replied, but he didn't make a move to say anything else. Tony's armor was making weird noises echo off the walls and he couldn't tell if it was just his imagination or if someone was walking beside him, or behind him, or somewhere.

"So, since you aren't chatty today, I'll ask the questions," Tony started. "Who do you think will find Loki first?"

"Thor, who else?" Steve certainly didn't want to find the delusional Asgardian down here.

"I dunno. I think he's got it out for Bruce. Or Clint because, you know, Clint tried to kill him."

Steve shrugged. This wasn't something they really needed to be discussing. As long as they weren't targets, they didn't have to worry about who Loki went after. Whoever it ended up being would get a face full of Thor before they so much as laid a hand on Loki. Though Clint had shot him, Steve didn't think that Loki would retaliate. Loki wanted Thor dead, and they had beef with each other from a thousand years of brotherhood. So no, he didn't think Loki would go for Bruce or Clint.

"I'm still not very happy with you, if you're wondering," Steve said after a moment.

He heard the metal shift as Tony shrugged. "I wasn't."

Typical. He would have quipped a reply, but figured it probably wasn't the best idea to get in another fight with him. Steve just wanted to get this over with and go back home. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand. They needed to find Death.

His flashlight illuminated a bit of the cavern ahead, but Steve was relying on Tony and his suit to tell him if anything was ahead. Something about being able to see at night or in darkness or something—he forgot what it was called. All he knew was that Tony knew where things were a lot better than he did.

"Well, Fury wasn't lying about the 'big' part," Tony muttered. Steve pointed his flashlight at where the suit's eyes were pointing and the beam of like cut through a good 300 feet of darkness before hitting the opposite cavern wall. A little gasp left the Captain's throat as his flashlight began to trace the entirety of the massive cavern they were now inside. It freaked him out a little that he hadn't noticed that he was inside the huge space; he'd been to focused on the dirt path in front of him. There was plenty of room in the darkness to hide someone, or something.

"No need to be nervous, Uncle Sam. There's no one in here," Tony said and they started forward again.

"I'm not nervous," the Captain snapped. "I've dealt with Red Skull and HYDRA Nazis, a cave doesn't make me nervous."

"Well, J, looks like Steve isn't nervous. I think our heartbeat monitor must be off or something."

"That's just from adrenaline," Steve retorted. Jagged rock and shale began to close around them as they walked, and the surrounding walls were riddled with spires that looked like the sand drip castles that he made as a kid. Only these were much bigger, and reminded him more of the gothic castle in Nosferatu. It wasn't even the cave that was making him nervous; it was that Death was in here somewhere.

They took a sharp turn, and for a moment the blue light of Tony's arc reactor was gone. There was a shuffling noise and Steve turned around to see Tony appear form the corner.

"You're trying to scare me, aren't you?" Steve said, narrowing his eyes. Tony shrugged and the lights in his eyes flickered as the billionaire looked to the ceiling.

The cave continued to shrink around them, but Steve kept walking, though the grip on his flashlight increased until his knuckles were probably white enough to make their own light. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, the scuffing of his boots on rock and the mechanical noises of Tony's suit. Aside from what his flashlight lit up and the glow from Tony's arc reactor, it was pitch black. The shadows seemed to be trying to swallow up everything.

Suddenly the two Avengers found themselves at a dead end. Steve stopped abruptly and whipped around to face Tony.

"What are you doing? You could've said—"

"That this was a dead end?" Tony finished, but it wasn't Tony's voice. It was a much lower one that reminded him of the noise roaches made that time he turned on the light in his apartment in 1939 to find out he had an infestation.

"I'm so glad you could join me, Steve. I've waited patiently for seventy years, but you just refused to die." The light played off of the red and gold metal as the suit reared back a fist, then the darkness seized its chance to swallow him whole.

 

* * *

 

"Did you hear something?" Natasha asked as she looked back at Clint.

The archer shook his head. "Nope."

Being underground was probably the last place anyone would expect to find him, but Loki called for desperate measures. Besides, the Mammoth Caves were pretty airy, and with night vision goggles he could see everything. Sound was never his strong suit, but he figured if anything had actually made a noise, it would echo enough that he could hear.

"I'm pretty sure I just heard something."

"Well, spies shouldn't operate on 'pretty sure,'" Clint said with a grin as he stepped up beside her. They were looking out from a small cavern into a larger flooded one. Though the water was still, it reminded Clint of how trapped they were if something were to go wrong. Hell, they could be drowned in this place and have no way out.

Natasha turned to look at him after a moment of observing the cave. "Before we go in here, I wanted to apologize for my unprofessionalism back there."

"What?" Clint cocked a brow, though it only made his goggles resettle on his face.

"With War. My actions were childish and uncalled for."

Oh. The kiss. That was such a long time ago in Clint's mind, but he remembered it with clarity. Mostly because he wanted to kiss back, but he knew better than to think Natasha had been in her right mind at that moment. The whole team thought they had some relationship, and maybe they did, but he knew they would never act on it.

"It's fine, Tash. I knew you weren't okay."

"Good. I was worried I'd given you the wrong impression," Natasha said with a nod.

Ouch. "What, that I'm attractive enough to want to kiss?" His eyes glinted with amusement, not that she would be able to see it behind his goggles.

"You have your days, Barton," the spy replied, and he could hear the smirk on her lips.

"So that means I  _do_  have days where I am attractive enough to kiss."

She opened her mouth to answer, then stopped, staring at something behind him. A huffing noise sounded from the cavern they had just come out of, mixed with the noise of something scratching against rock. Clint turned and readied his bow. The arrowhead glowed blue, and he'd forgotten about what the light would do to his goggles. The green world in his vision flashed white for a moment to readjust, then he was face to face with a lunging pitbull. He released the arrow right into Hades' chest, but it was too late. The dog slammed into Natasha and suddenly she was falling. The water below was not going to be enough to save her.

Clint dropped his bow and dove to grab her ankle. He managed to wrap his fingers around it but her momentum was too strong and she yanked him right off the edge with her.

The only thing he could think about as he plummeted face first toward a too-shallow lake was how annoying it was that he was still seeing everything in night vision.

 

* * *

 

Steve opened his eyes and found himself staring at a denim blue sky. There was gritty cement underneath his fingers, but something about his body felt different. His heartbeat fluttered and he had the weirdest sensation that he was drunk. He turned his head to look at a worn street in New York city, littered with men in uniform and women walking around in heels that clacked in time with the horse hooves of a passing carriage. It was summer, and everything smelled like cigarette smoke and car fumes. And beer.

Actually, it smelled a lot like beer. He lifted his head and squinted to try and make out where he was. A young woman walked by him and giggled before hurrying to catch up with her friends. Steve recognized her, he recognized this day, the smell of beer, everything. This was the first time he'd ever gotten drunk before, a Saturday in 1939. Sure enough, his bottle of American Beer was sitting right next to him, empty but still cold from the icebox in Bucky's house. Bucky.

"Steve, what are you doing?"

He jerked up onto his elbows and turned to see none other than Bucky Barnes walking up to him with another two beers in hand. A smile plastered itself on his face and he tried to stand up but fell right back over. His limbs were stick-thin again, all traces of the serum gone.

"Whoa there. I know you feel like you can take on the world, but you're still drunk," Bucky laughed. A sound Steve hadn't heard in a very, very long time. "Here." Bucky extended another beer and Steve took it.

"Hey, Bucky," he said and his voice almost quivered.

"Hey, Steve," Bucky laughed, sitting down beside him on the sidewalk. "How mad do you think my mom's gonna be when she figures out we drank all of her beer?"

Steve blinked, fully expecting the vision to fade away at any moment like some dream. When it didn't, he decided to quit trying. It didn't feel like a dream, he could feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck, the cool condensation from the bottle dripping onto his fingers ,and when he sipped the beer it made his head swim a little. He wasn't Captain America anymore, not right now. He was Steve Rogers again.

"I bet if you tell her you gave it all to me, she'd let you off the hook."

"No," Bucky shook his head, "she wouldn't believe me."

They both laughed because they knew it was true.

"Hey, I've got a dime. Let's go get cream soda." Steve's voice was slurred though his mind was not. Everything was painfully clear to him and he wasn't sure how long it was going to last.

"Weren't saving up for colored pencils or something?" Bucky asked, taking a frothy sip from his bottle.

Colored pencils. He remembered that now, he remembered saying 'oh, yeah' and waiting until the end of the week to buy a crappy case of damned colored pencils. Well, they weren't bad colored pencils, he kept the set all through the war until they were just little colored wooden nubs.

"Doesn't matter. I wanna get some cream soda. I heard they got grape. It's purple."

"Wow, I'm impressed," Bucky chuckled, flashing that smile of his that never seemed to go away. Steve knew that it would, in about four years and six months it would be gone forever.

Bucky stood up and offered a hand. Steve grabbed his empty bottle and his full bottle by their necks and took the help. His balance was off and when he inhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke, it brought on a hacking cough.

"Hey, watch it pal, my friend is trying to breathe over here," Bucky shouted after the black fedora and trenchcoat that was still breathing smoke.

"It's fine. I'm just not really used to my old lungs, I guess," Steve coughed.

His friend didn't hear him and gave him a pat on the back before he started walking. Unlike everyone else, Bucky never coddled him, he expected Steve to act like everyone else. With a small smile, Steve trotted on spindly legs to catch up to his buddy.

"So," Bucky staid as they headed for Hermie's Snack Stop up the block, "you think you're gonna try to enlist again?"

Oh, right. Steve tried to think back to when he had first tried to enlist. It had been during January of 1939. They passed a newsie shouting about the war and he read the date on the paper: July 27th, 1939.

"Yeah, probably. I'm gonna have to fudge some of it though. Fake IDs aren't that hard to make."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Suit youself, bucko." Steve almost laughed as he remembered that Bucky always used that word, though he was pretty sure it was unintentional. They stopped in front of Hermie's, and Steve grinned at the smeared windows and worn painted sign out front. No lights, no moving advertisements, just hand painted signs and an open door to try to let the heat out into the open air. Uncle Sam was pointing at them from the counter when they entered, demanding that they serve their country in the war.

Steve felt his pocket for the dime he knew would be there, and sure enough, there it was. He pulled it from his pants pocket and ran his thumb over the warm metal. It was dull and had something crusty on the side.

"Steve?"

He looked up at the sound of his name to see Tony standing in the doorway with a coffee mug. No. No!

"Do you know that guy?" Bucky asked, giving Tony's tattered outfit a lookdown.

"No, I don't know him." He turned to the shopkeeper. "Two cream sodas. Both grape, please."

"You boys know I don't like the devil's drink in my store," the man looked down at the beer bottles still in Steve's hand.

"Sorry, sir. We'll leave as soon as we get our drinks."

"Steve, you need to come with me." He heard the floorboards creak as Tony started for him. "Listen to me—"

Bucky stepped in front of him. "He doesn't know you, pal. Get lost."

The shopkeeper placed two grape sodas on the counter and popped off the caps. Steve paid him the dime and used his free hand to grab his drink.

"Bucky, get your soda."

He dared to look at Tony an almost flinched. The billionaire was wearing a tuxedo that had splatters of what smelled liked whiskey all over it. A good part of his outfit was singed and the smell of burning cloth was beginning to overpower the alcohol.

"Is this guy one of the guys that beat you up?" Bucky asked, eyes blazing.

Steve took a sip of his soda and let the fizzy taste of carbonated grape drizzle down his throat. Tony was breathing hard and staring at him with wide bloodshot eyes.

"No, he's just a guy I helped out a few times." He gripped the cool soda bottle a little tighter. "I don't care if this is a dream, Tony. I'm not going back."

Tony shook his head. "I don't know how long I can stay here. Steve you've gotta come with me, right now. It's the best day of your life, right? Well there's a flip side, Spangles. You're gonna wake up tomorrow morning and—"

"I already told you, I'm not going back. I don't care about 2012 or the Avengers or Captain America. I'm staying right here."

"Steve, are you okay?" Bucky's voice was lost in the backdrop as he watched the hurt wash over Tony's face, poorly hidden with a smirk.

"Fine. But you've gotta promise me you won't do it."

"Do what?"

" _Promise me!"_  Tony demanded. "Promise me you'll break the cup instead, Steve!"

Bucky grabbed his grape soda and shoved Tony out of the way. The billionaire was trembling, bug-eyed and desperate. Steve followed right in step behind his best friend, glancing at Tony as he passed by.

"Goodbye, Stark. If I ever meet Howard, I'll tell him you said hello."

Tony winced and Steve closed his eyes for a second before stepping out into the summer heat. Bucky was staring at the label of his grape soda.

"You should've bought those colored pencils, Steve. This tastes horrible."

He forced a smile as they started walking. "Believe me, Bucky, this is a lot better than colored pencils."


	27. Chapter 27

It had only taken a heartbeat for Death to grab him. The great Tony Stark was helpless when the shadow came upon him at the very second Steve rounded the corner. He didn't even know what happened, the next thing he remembered was standing in front of the press and telling them that he was Iron Man. That had been a good memory, probably his favorite one. When he stood there he felt the same rush of adrenaline, the pride in himself for creating the best human-operated weapon in existence. He was a superhero who built himself, a metal suit with a face behind it. Most of all, he relished in the shock of the reporters' faces. Tony Stark, the womanizing, self-absorbed, weapons junkie—as Iron Man? They couldn't believe it.

The suit didn't really matter any longer when the press had figured out who was in it. The weeks after that day were some of the best of his life. Pepper was proud of him instead of worried, the military had backed off, and nobody was asking him about his dad. But he didn't get to experience the best  _weeks_  of his life. He fell asleep and woke up in a completely different time.

Boston was glowing in the early summer light as he sat up from the cocoon of sheets and discarded bottles. A few crushed cans of beer fell to the floor with a tinny ring as he stood up to try to wipe sleep away. His dorm room was a private suite—one of the only favors he had obtained for being so young. Nineteen. He immediately looked down at his chest to find no arc reactor, no blue light, just his t-shirt with a faded drawing of Captain America on it. He rolled his eyes at that, but had to bring his hand up to touch, just to make sure the reactor wasn't there. All he felt was the miniscule burn of rubbing on his sternum, nothing else. He twisted his torso in ways that usually hurt, only to find that they felt completely normal. It was as if his body had been rejuvenated and he was alive again-he didn't even have a hangover. His eyes were bright, not bloodshot.

A knock sounded at his door. "Stark, get your ass out here!"

Tony blinked. He knew that voice, he just couldn't remember the guy's name. Tyler? No. George? No, that wasn't right either. Well, he'd been in worse situations.

"Yeah, I'll be out in a second." God, he sounded like a girl when he talked.

He dug around the piles of trash and school papers until he found his phone, and old cell phone that was probably the equivalent of an old Motorola Razr. Damn, it really was the eighties, though his phone was so far ahead of what was out that no one knew what he was doing when he called people on it on campus. He clicked it on and dropped the phone to the floor when he saw the date. It landed with a soft thud on the carpet, still glowing with the reminder he had set for himself:

_Graduation day. Be sober for ceremony. 9am Killian Court._

No. Suddenly he wanted to scream, or crawl back into bed and never wake up and experience this day. He would rather have his arc reactor shoved back into his chest a thousand times then live through this day again. A black gown hung on the door to his bathroom, faintly lit by the sun through the blinds. A cardinal and grey hood hung off of the back, and a cap dangled form the hangar. There had to be a way to fix this, there had to be.

Once he was dressed, he remembered how stupid graduations were. People spent ridiculous amounts of money on monk robes with square hats that made them look like idiots. He readjusted the black silk on his head one more time, and opened the door to the hall. His dorm almost always had he lights off unless he was working on something, so stepping out into the brightly lit hallways was something of a death sentence to his eyes.

"Tell me you aren't drunk." The voice came from his right, and after blinking a few times Tony made out the form his old friend…whose name he still didn't remember. He shook his head.

"I'm not and it sucks," he grumbled.

"Sucks? What, is that some electrical engineering slang?" Tony decided he was going to call this guy Henry. He looked like a Henry.

"I've decided to hold off on the profanity today," Tony said with a forced chuckle. "Hate to burst your bubble."

"Look at you, you aren't even twenty one and you're all grown up," Henry laughed as they started walking. Tony was beginning to question why he was friends with this guy.

After they had gotten outside, he fished out his cell phone (while suffering the agony of old technology) and dialed the only phone number he knew by heart. It rang five times.

"Hello, you've reached Stark Industries, this is Sarah. How may I help you?"

Tony swallowed and tried his best to keep up with Henry without tripping over his robes. "This is Tony. Is Howard in?"

"One moment please, Mr. Stark."

Tony's palms started to sweat and his heart was beating in his throat. This could all be changed, all of it. Right now.

"Tony?"

His stomach flipped at the sound of his father's voice. The gruff, sour tone was in every memory of his childhood, and here it was once again, right there on the phone. If this was even real.

"Hey, Dad. It's Tony."

"How are you calling me? I don't have a landline signal from you," said Howard.

"Uh, yeah, it's this phone I created. I told you about it at Easter, remember?"

"Hmm." That meant no. It had always meant no.

"Anyway," Tony swallowed, "you're coming to my graduation today, right? My speech is at eleven." He tugged at his collar, looking down at the grass as he walked right through the campus courtyards.

"Oh, yes, I'll be there. Is this your doctorate?"

He tried not to flinch. "No, Dad. I'm getting two masters in electrical and nuclear engineering. "

"No doctorate. All right. I'll be there at eleven."

Tony smiled, though it was weak. "Great. I had them save a spot for you in the front row, so you might need to be here a little early. But you don't have to, they told me they wouldn't fill it."

"All right. Bye, Tony."

"Yeah. See you later. Eleven o'clock, okay?"

The call ended without an answer, and Tony wiped his eyes with a black silken sleeve. Man, even in the summer Boston's wind was enough to make his eyes water.

 

* * *

 

Clint was breathing heavily as he tore across the asphalt dungeon of his childhood playground. His lungs were burning as he ran even though he had only gone a hundred feet or so. Apparently eight year-olds didn't have the stamina he was used to. The summer heat didn't really help either, though the boys chasing him were having a worse time with it. A rusty chain link fence was quickly approaching and Clint's stick-thin legs were questionable when it came to how much strength they had. At least he still had his adult brain, as weird as that was.

"Get back here, Barfton!" cried one of the boys. As if he would turn around. Actually, he could probably fight them off, but not all three of them at the same time. Even if he did manage to fend them off this time, he knew these boys well. Vern, Caleb, and Aiden Bennett, three brothers will a hell of an anger management problem. They were like a three-headed dragon—at least, when he was eight. Since these days he had dealt with real bullies. Ones that destroyed cities and tried to destroy universes.

Even so, he didn't really want to get beaten to a pulp. His brother, Barney, was somewhere back in the orphanage. Maybe if he'd realized what day it was (in an orphanage the days all ran together) he would have had Barney stay with him a little longer, though his brother was never much good at fighting. The Bennett Bastards weren't too much better, but they were huge for their age and could probably crush the life right out of him if they really wanted to. Damn, how he wished he could have the body to fit his brain.

He swerved sharply to the left and nearly fell on his face thanks to his kid-body's inability to keep its balance. This was Death's game; some sick, twisted game that he hoped wasn't permanent. He'd guessed that yesterday when he'd relived his induction into S.H.I.E.L.D with Natasha. At first he thought he had gone back in time, until Tash pulled him aside and told him that this had better not be heaven. They planned to navigate this alternate universe together, that is, until he woke up as an eight year-old this morning. He had no idea where Natasha was, or how to find her. The Bennett Boys were making that a little difficult.

The playground outside of the orphanged was nothing more than a glorified pile of rusty pipes and plastic. Cobwebs and earwigs infested every playhouse, and the jungle gym probably had a higher likelihood of giving people tetanus than providing any kind of fun. The monkey bars rattled when used and a few fell off if someone yanked on them too hard. The adults in charge of the place never once thought to spruce it up—Clint was pretty sure half of them were felons, so maybe it was a good idea that they weren't given power tools.

He vaulted over a collapsed bike rack and Aiden Bennett came close to grabbing him in midair. Clint knew he wasn't going to last much longer, but there were only two escapes: the orphanage, where he would probably be beaten up anyway, and the Tree. The Tree was a massive oak that towered in the far corner of the playground. It hunched over the fence, its low hanging branches seemingly inviting orphans to clamber up and over to freedom. But there was no freedom on the other side of the fence, the Tree was a liar, as signaled by the cans tied to the branches with string, one for every rumored victim. Many kids had climbed the Tree and escaped, only to be mauled by the hell spawn on the other side: King, the mutt that Clint was pretty sure was rabid.

King had a prey drive that seemed to only apply to children. Rumor had it that a boy had thrown a raw steak over the side of the fence, and when he hopped over King left the meat to come right for the kid. Clint knew that Death wanted him to climb the Tree, but he wasn't going to do it. Not again.

"Clint, over here!"

He turned his head to see Barney waving his arms, motioning for him to follow. His older brother had always had darker hair than him, but it stuck up in the same crazy way his did, at least, at that age. It was odd seeing him again after so many years, after Barney had condemned him and turned into a criminal. He just looked so…normal.

"Clint, hurry up!"

The archer didn't have the breath to answer, his legs burned as he tore towards his brother, praying that none of the Bennetts were close enough to try and tackle him.

Once he came within a few steps of Barney, his brother took off around the corner, leaving Clint to skitter after him like a cat on laminate flooring. He heard the shrill sound of rattling metal as one of the Bennetts hit the fence, and a loud curse as another ran into it after him. Clint focused on Barney's sneakers in front of him, narrowing his vision like he learned to do in training. A focal point made the body subconsciously relax; therefore giving him more access to energy he had been denied. Barney skidded to a stop and motioned up.

Clint was already up to the second branch by the time he realized where he was. King darted out from his destroyed doghouse, jowls flapping as he threw himself against the fence below Clint. The archer's body tensed, cursing himself as he turned around to stop Vern Bennet from what he had done all those years ago. But it was too late, Barney was already getting beaten to a pulp below him, and Vern was already on the branch. Meaty hands reached out, but Clint grabbed them and stopped himself from being pushed off.

"Watcha gonna do, Barfton? I'll beat the snot outta you, and you know who's gonna stop me?" Vern said as he flashed him a wicked smile. "Nobody. 'Cause you don't have nobody."

"I have Barney, asshole," Clint snapped.

"Not fer long. He's gonna leave you all alone. Gonna forget all about ya."

Clint dimly wondered if that was true. If they hadn't escaped the orphanage, Barney would have turned eighteen and gone out on his own. Clint never would've become Hawkeye, he would have probably end up living on the streets by himself. Alone, completely forgotten.

"See? Even you knows it's true," said Vern, still smiling at him like a circus clown.

"Vern, here!" Aiden called out from below and tossed a coke can at his brother. Vern swiped the can out of the air and handed it to Clint.

"Go on, then. King'll make it quick, 'less you wanna deal with us."

Clint blinked, looking down at the snapping jaw below as King snapped his jaws shut on empty air. He began to tremble as he gripped the can—the marker that was going to become his grave if he chose to hop down from the tree. Did kids even really die from this dog? It was mean enough, but surely it was illegal. It really didn't matter anyway, not at that moment. Clint readjusted his grip again, realizing what this was. A lancing pain ran up his middle, but it wasn't physical. This was the first moment he had actually considered ending his life. This was the first moment he'd had a brush with Death.

The silver can fell from his hands, shining its tinny gleam in the afternoon sun. It hit the ground with a hollow thud. King pounced, instantly sinking his teeth through the thin metal and crushing it in his powerful jaws with a throaty growl.

 

* * *

 

Tony stood up when his name was called, prompting a thunderous applause from the sea of black, crimson, and grey. Graduation tassels swayed in unison as heads turned to face him; the nineteen year old prodigy from New York. The dean spoke of his amazing intellect, his unbelievable skill in everything from quantum physics to nuclear fission. His charisma, his scientific prowess, "one to watch," his unmatched skill. His affinity for booze wasn't mentioned. The fact that his father hated his guts wasn't mentioned. They looked over the massive flaws that were obvious to people who had only met him once—probably when he was wasted and hosting a party that flooded the hallway with people; all if whom were wanting a taste of high-class bourbon. It happened a lot in college. Every weekend, actually.

The dean also didn't mention his suspicious ability to talk his way out of being arrested. Tony's rap sheet for underage drinking, noise violations, drunk driving, destruction of public property, and defacing of public property would probably have extended all the way down the massive isle between the hundreds of chairs sitting on the manicured lawn of Killian Court. Yet the police never arrested him. Never once did they dare trifle with the son of the man who practically financed the entire US military. Even if they were stupid enough, the arrest paperwork always disappeared somewhere along the way. No, they didn't mention that.

So as he strode across the stage with a smile so forced that it looked real, the parents smiled back. The students cheered for him, for all of the booze he'd given out to their greedy little hands. The microphone gave a few muffled thumps as he stepped in front of the lectern and cleared his throat.

"My experience at MIT has been the best four years of my life. I made new friends, saw new things, built new things—all thanks to this school. When I first started in electrical engineering, I had this crazy idea to build a suit—an idea I could have made possible—that allowed the wearer super strength, flight, and a computer display to process all of it in real time." His grin told the audience to laugh, and so they did. His usual Stark attitude was gone as he ground out the speech that had been prepared for him. His sarcastic banter was lacking as he searched the crowd, feeding them the bullshit on every MIT brochure, just twisted and spit out a different way. He looked for his father, hoping that maybe his phone call had changed things, that this time around Howard would remember to show up. There was an empty seat in the front row blaring "RESERVED" on the piece of paper attached to the back. Tony kept talking, forcing chuckles at bullshit jokes and waiting for someone to sit in that spot. No one did.

 

 

The rest of the ceremony went just like he remembered—waiting to leave. He got his diplomas and dumped them in the trash on his way to the liquor store. Only after buying an armful of booze bottles did he realize that he wasn't twenty-one. Of course, why would his—his  _father's_ influence only apply to cops? Part of him wanted to return all of it and make the cashier ID him, force him to do it so that he would finally get caught for something. Hell, maybe even get punished for it. Instead he returned to his dorm amidst the parties that were already gearing up to start, most of which were still parent friendly for the time being.

When he reached his room he tossed the bottles onto the bed to a symphony of high-pitched clangs and tinkles of glass. Some of them might have broken, but he really didn't care. The silk robes tore pretty easily, leaving massive shreds of black and grey on the floor, washed in the occasional strip of red fabric from his hood. Underneath was his meticulously tailored tuxedo, the one he only fished out of the closet once a year when he had to attend Stark Expo. He almost ripped that off too, but decided that it was awfully fitting that his dad had paid for that too, just like he'd paid for his education, his dorm suite, everything.

Tony spewed muffled curses as he rummaged through his pocket and pulled out his phone. He redialed his father as he popped off the cork of a vodka bottle. Tipping the bottle to his lips, he took a massive swig that made his stomach lurch, but he didn't care. Drunkenness was starting to pool in his senses—perks of being young and (comparative to his later years) mostly non-alcoholic.

"Stark Industries how may—"

"I want to talk to Howard," Tony cut in, his voice already drawling.

"Right away," the secretary said quickly.

The phone rang long enough for Tony to down a couple more swallows of straight vodka, nearly causing him to throw up. This wasn't a game anymore; this wasn't some stunt trick by Death to disorient them. It was an attack.

"Hello?" Howard sounded put off. Great, Tony was always glad to be a disturbance in his day.

"You missed my graduation," Tony said, taking another pull form the bottle.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Anthony, but—"

"Tony, Dad. My name is Tony." He gripped the bottle tighter until the tips of his fingers turned white.

His father sighed on the other end of the line. "Look, something came up that took precedence."

"Yeah? I love you too."

"Don't start—"

Tony had had enough. "Don't start what? Don't start expecting you to show up when you say you will? Eleven o'clock. 'I'll be there.' That's what you told me. Every fucking time, you say you'll be there."

"Tony—"

"No," he growled, "I'm not done. I put up with you all of my life, I put up with the company meetings, shareholder shit that you insisted I learn while you were on vacation in Maui or wherever the hell you were. I got stone drunk my first year at college—when I was fifteen, in case you were wondering—and what did you do?

There was silence on the other end.

"Answer me, dammit!  _What did you do_?"

"That's not important right now, Tony."

He laughed bitterly. "Don't kid yourself, Howard. When was I important? Was I _ever_  important?"

The bottle was running out of vodka thanks to the way it was spilling all over the carpet. Tony fumbled to find something that he could pour it into, but all he found was a coffee cup with some day-old coffee left in it. Oh well.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't there," his father finally said.

A twisted smile settled on Tony's face as he rummaged through his desk drawer, sending alcohol splashing out of his coffee cup.

"See, Dad, you didn't answer my question." There. He sighted the neck of a small revolver, and pulled it out of the dross, his vision blurring from drink.

"Someday you'll understand."

Tony laughed again as he held the phone in the crook of his neck . Bullets tumbled to the floor as he fumbled to load the pistol. "Yeah, a new element. I sure was happy I didn't have a dad all my life because, hey, I discovered a new element!"

"What? I haven't even—"

The gun fell to the floor. Tony cursed loudly and stooped over to pick it up. "What were you doing today, Dad? What was so god damn important?"

Howard cleared his throat. "I think we may have found him," he said quietly.

"Found who?" Tony demanded.

"Captain Rogers."

So that was what this was all about. That was why his father missed his graduation—everything made sense. His dad had always harbored an obsession for finding Steve, but he hadn't thought it extended that far. Maybe he could've understood if he was building something or even had a meeting, not looking for Steve Rogers in the bottom of the ocean. Especially when he knew that they wouldn't find him. He brought the gun up from the floor. Death wanted to face him? Fine. He didn't care anymore.

"Just so you know—because I know you won't ever ask me—you're the worst father a kid could ever have. I bet Mom was happy to get away from you."

"How dare you—"

"Shut the hell up, Dad," Tony snapped, his voice trembling. "Just shut the hell up." He stood up, holding the pistol tightly in his hands. A shaky sigh left his lips and his eyes were watering again. His sudden movement knocked the coffee cup from his desk and it landed with a crunch on the floor, rolling over to show a cracked drawing of Captain America giving a rallying battle cry.

The gun never went off, but his world still went black. When he stood up, he was lying in a puddle of disgusting water in New York City. And there was Steve, skinny as a twig and almost unrecognizable, stepping into a corner shop. The coffee mug was sitting beside him on the street. Tony clutched it tight. He couldn't let Death win; not with him and not with Steve.


	28. Chapter 28

Thor could tell that his brother was not trying to be subtle when he stepped into a small cavern that was cold enough to freeze rock. It reminded him of the tunnels beneath Jotunheim—icy and dark and Thor's breath fogged in front of him as he made his way through alone. As he had predicted, Bruce had gone off alone after they heard a loud noise from one of the distant caverns. Thor had turned to follow, but some sort of presence tugged him toward the opening of this cavern. A voice he could not quite hear telling him to come inside. It was Loki, that much he knew.

He gripped Mjolnir a little tighter as he made his way along the side of the cavern, searching for any sign of his brother's presence. The puddles had frozen to black ice. The dripping from the ceiling had ceased, leaving white veins traversing the dome above him. Most of the rock that wasn't touching the wall was completely coated in ice so black that if he looked into it, it was hard to decipher what was reflection and what was real. It was a hall of mirrors, something Loki had done a few times in their youth. The gardens made a prime spot for magic mirrors to be hidden, though they were often not accurate in their reflections. It was something Loki did when he wished to be left alone, and the angrier he was, the worse images appeared in the mirrors. Thor had seen himself half-decomposed in one, a massive ghoul rising behind him in another.

But it never deterred him. Not one of Loki's countless tricks and illusions had ever stopped him from searching for his brother. Loki did not often become upset, but some Aesir could be particularly cruel to him, so much so that not even the stoic trickster could pretend they weren't scathing. Many a time, he tripped Loki's traps, and came across his brother with pins stuck to his armor or thorns embedded in his hands. It was Thor's duty to care for his brother, no matter how twisted and dark he became.

After returning to Asgard, he had seen his brother change. In the beginning it worried him, Loki didn't eat for weeks, his eyes blank and lifeless. Thor stayed with him until the dead of night at the supper table, placing more food onto his plate and pleading Loki to eat something. After weeks of trying, Loki finally selected a slice of apple, chewed it, and spit it back out into the plate. From then on, Thor had tirelessly coaxed Loki into eating again, then to reading again, until Loki was functioning normally. He had rebuilt his brother from an empty shell, piece by miniscule piece.

And now, this. All of his days of sitting at Loki's side, embracing him tightly against his will just to remind him what it felt like to be hugged by someone, had all been for nothing. Loki had turned against him in his brief time on Midgard, and had become exactly as violent and unpredictable as before. It was hard for Thor to swallow, he had worked for so hard and for so long to bring Loki back to normal, to being his brother. He simply couldn't believe that Conquest had brought Loki down so quickly. Though Thor supposed it was much easier to destroy than to rebuild, he refused to believe that it was in Loki's nature to hate. His brother may have been the God of Mischief, but tricks and traps were not products of loathing. Thor knew that from personal experience. Loki used his magic as a defense, his illusions to hide the true emotion behind the façade. Loki was broken, and Thor could only do so much to fix it. Evidently, Loki had not been able to do the rest.

A cracking noise filled the cavern and Thor instinctively slammed himself to the wall to avoid an attack. A stalactite plunged to the ice where he had stood and shattered across the ice, leaving a crack in the glossy black surface. A low growl escaped the thunderer's throat as he searched for the perpetrator, knowing Loki was near.

"So quick to anger, aren't you?" Loki's voice echoed through the space around him.

Thor scanned the room with his head candle, but found nothing. "Loki, show yourself."

"Why? So that you may shake me and convince me that all of this is foolish?" Loki said with a laugh.

Thor snarled. That was exactly what he planned to do. Loki would return to Asgard and Thor would fix him again, for good this time. There would be no more trips to Midgard, no more temptation for Loki to do wrong. He would have his brother back.

His head candle burst with a loud crack, throwing him into darkness. Mjolnir glowed faintly with energy as Thor shucked off his broken device. It clattered loudly to the floor as he continued on through the cavern, careful not to slip on the slick floor. The air grew colder around him, and he could no longer sense the walls around him. Sparks jumped to his fingers and he pressed a hand to the ice.

Blue lightning bounced across the ice, illuminating a massive cavern that had once been an underground lake. A throne had been carved from the ice and Loki sat atop it, head propped up with a hand. The light faded away as Thor began to make out the blurry details of his brother's posture. Torches were suddenly lit with blue flame at the edge of the huge space. Loki's throne was at the far end, and Thor recognized the shape to be identical to the throne of Asgard—aside from the ice, of course. The scythe Thor had been sliced with earlier was in Loki's hand. A battle would take place here, as much as Thor hated to think of it.

The thunderer strode across the floor of slick ice, staring down at the reflection mirroring his every movement. The face there looked weathered, far from his usual sunlit smile.

"How good of you to come and visit," Loki said with a wicked grin. "Are you finished playing hide-and-seek with Death, brother?"

"I have not come here in search of Death," Thor snapped. "It is time you ceased this nonsense and returned home with me."

Loki laughed darkly, sitting up as Thor stopped a little ways from the throne. "I would have thought you understood by now, I do not wish to go back to Asgard."

"You have said that before."

Loki cocked his head, a knowing glint in his eye. "Have I? Last time I simply said I couldn't. This time, I have no desire to."

Thor refrained from flinching at the truth of the trickster's words. Shaking his head, he looked back to his brother. "You are still a prisoner of Asgard. It does not matter if you wish to come home or not."

Loki stood and Thor instantly fell into a battle stance. His brother paused for a moment, then seemingly decided that it didn't matter if Thor was threatening to attack him or not.

"Return home without me, Thor."

"No," the thunderer replied defiantly, edging closer. If he could just grab hold of Loki's wielding hand, he could easily overpower him and force him home.

"You always sought to ease my burdens," Loki murmured, and his eyes grew soft in the pale light as he reached out a hand, tentatively placing it on his shoulder. Thor glanced over, but was surprised to find that he was not being attacked in some way. Yet he knew better than to think this was genuine. "I will not cause trouble here. You have my word."

"You word has come to mean nothing to me, brother," Thor said quietly before gently pushing Loki's hand away. "I will not leave you here."

"Then I will kill you." Loki's face dissolved to an expression of pure hatred, his eyes blazed with unaltered loathing.

Thor could not hold back from flinching this time. He didn't believe Loki would ever kill him, yet he already had a scar on his neck from the last time he'd thought that. He shook his head. "No, Loki. You will come home with me and be safe again."

Loki scoffed, and suddenly the scythe was at Thor's throat, the pointed tip slightly puncturing his flesh. "No more falsities, Odinson. I have no time for games."

Thor rammed Mjolnir into Loki's stomach and the trickster flew backward, eyes wide with surprise. Thor was not going to play games either. Since Loki seemed intent on scathing him with words to provoke him, why shouldn't he succumb?

Loki slammed into the armrest of the throne, hissing with pain from the impact. His eyes flashed and the younger prince flew at him with the scythe outstretched, glistening with a coating of ice. Mjolnir blocked the advance, but Thor was hit with a blast of fire instead. He roared in pain, then fired a bolt of lightning from his hammer.

The white bolt of electricity shot straight to Loki's scythe, and the Jotun grinned at his handiwork.

"I've prepared for this fight, brother. I cannot lose," Loki said, shooting a green beam straight towards Thor. The thunderer blocked with Mjolnir again, but then Loki shot another beam with the end of his scythe that hit Thor in the leg, causing him to fall to the ground.

"You cannot win," Thor snarled, but when he tried to stand up he slipped to the ground again thanks to the ice. His brother laughed at him, then came forward to hook the scythe into the back of his armor. Using what Thor guessed as a combination of magic and strength, Loki lifted him to standing then higher as if the scythe where a hangar.

"Why can't I, Thor? Is it because I have never won? Always trumped by your greatness and might, aren't I?" Loki clucked his tongue, shaking his head. "This time, brother, it is you who cannot win."

Thor's throat started to close from being hung up in the air and he struggled feebly against the scythe. His muscles felt weakened, something was wrong. This would usually be an easy position to get out of. "Why would you kill me, Loki? What have I ever done but loved you?" His voice came out a quiet whisper as he strained to speak.

Loki's eyes flickered with something Thor could not place, and the trickster brought up a hand, placing it over Thor's heart. "Feel my heart, brother."

Thor gave Loki a confused look, but did as he was told. Loki's hearbeat was barely distinguishable due to the thickness of Loki's armor, but he could feel it. Slow, spaced beats drummed at his fingertips, as though someone were stopping the trickster's heart.

"Your heart is of an Aesir, fast and powerful. Mine is of a Jotun, slow and unassuming. That is why it will not work on me, and it is also why you will die."

Thor's brow creased in confusion, but then his stomach clenched tightly and his eyes bulged with pain. Loki slowly lowered him to the ground as foam began to seep from Thor's mouth and his body began to convulse. It hurt, everything hurt inside of him and if he were able to scream, he would have. His eyes went glassy as he crumbled to the ice, clutching for Loki.

His brother grasped his wrist and eased down behind him so that Thor's head rested on his lap. Thor was trembling madly as his insides began to twist together, prompting a sob to escape his lips. Tears rolled from his eyes, borne of both pain and emotion.

"There was no need to fight, brother," Loki murmured, and his finger pressed to the tiny incision the scythe had made on Thor's neck. Thor stammered for words, but could find none.

"I'll have you know that the poison was not of my creation. Your mortal friends had a vial of it that they attempted to use on me." Loki's fingers brushed back a few strands of blond as Thor looked up at him. It wasn't possible, Aesir were immune to poison, the only thing that could affect him was venom from Jormungandr, the Midgard serpent. Or his offspring…offspring that were probably rampant in the oceans of  _Midgard_. He gave a few wet coughs as the poison began to cripple him, stilling his convulsions. Loki would not actually kill him, would he? Thor wanted to ask, but his mouth could only froth and his eyes could only stare up at the jagged rock ceiling.

"Lie still, Thor. Do not wait for me in Valhalla." Loki gave him a weak smile, and a hot burning tear splashed to his cheek that was not his own. Thor's brow started to crease as his body began to quake in Loki's lap. Then, with a final hiccup, the Odinson stilled.

 

* * *

 

Loki adjusted his muzzle—a new one that was particularly uncomfortable. Chains and straps bound it tightly to his head and every movement either gave him a headache or made his jaw hurt. Shackles bound him to the floor with thick steel that he could easy break with a strong enough pull, but he had to convince the Avengers that he was confined. Barton came in every so often and stared at him for awhile as if gauging whether or not he was really trapped. Clever man, Loki thought. Barton had made a fine pet, and was smarter than Stark on most occasions. Stark was always too focused on cracking a witty pun instead of the real issue.

Banner visited more often than anyone else. Every twenty minutes or so, he was greeted in Banner's quiet voice that was so different from the Hulk's beastly roars. Loki supposed he sounded different when he was a Jotun, so it was all the same. After the greeting, Banner would remove the muzzle so that he could speak, and he would only ask to see Thor. It was imperative that he saw his brother before Death made his real appearance. Chasing pawns had made a good diversion, and the voodoo idea was one Loki had invented to add to the confusion. But Thor needed to return to Asgard immediately. His eyes closed, waiting for one of the Avengers to return.

"Loki."

He blinked, and War was standing in his cell. Despite being "dead," War looked healthier than before, ice-blue eyes flashing with chaotic wisdom. Loki dipped his head in greeting.

"We need to talk, Laufeyson," War said. Loki's muzzle clicked and fell away from his lips just enough for him to speak and breathe normally. It was an immense relief, though Loki didn't show it.

"Then let us speak," he murmured, lifting his shackled hands to rub his jaw.

"To my knowledge, Thor is still here."

"Yes, I haven't been able to speak with him. The mortals seem intent on keeping me here," Loki grumbled, not even bothering to stand as War approached. The horseman crouched in front of him, and the trickster noticed that his eyes were not friendly.

"Your time is up, Loki. Death is ready to go."

Loki's eyes widened, a slip of emotion he cursed himself for revealing. His lips curled to a snarl. "We had a pact!"

"Yes, we did. I agreed to let you try to get Thor out of here before my big brother showed up. I felt for your brotherly need to protect him, whatever it was. You failed," War growled. Loki flinched. "And after my sister and I so tragically perished at the hands of the Avengers, I, War, gave you another chance. Just so you know, I don't do that very often."

Loki was not one to be scolded. A roar escaped him and his hands latched to War's neck. "You would be very foolish to betray our agreement."

"How frightening," War chuckled, yanking himself free from Loki's grasp. His eyes sharpened again, and it was War's hands that came to Loki's throat, squeezing hard. "Do not threaten me. You are nothing but a petty sorcerer, a blue beast wearing someone else's skin."

Loki struggled, anger etched in his every facial feature. This fool thought him a beast? He planned to show War what a beast he could truly be. He called magic to his palms and shot a beam of energy into War. It did nothing.

"Don't even try it, " the horseman snapped, giving his neck a shake. "You are to go through with everything we agreed to."

"And if I refuse?"

The horseman grinned, releasing him with a shrug. Loki gasped for air, falling backwards into the wall behind him. His throat felt as though he were still being choked, and his neck ached painfully with every heartbeat.

"Well, you have been spared, of course, for agreeing to assist us with the trickery. But Thor hasn't. You've just guaranteed his death by even mentioning refusal." War smiled down at him and Loki's heart plunged, eyes widening with fear for his brother.

"No. I'll take him away, he won't cause any trouble from Asgard," Loki said, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid that isn't going to happen. But I'll tell you this, my brother, Death, has to collect souls all the time. It gets boring—old people, sick people—he never gets any excitement. Murder gets old after millions of years." War grinned. "But if he were o have an Aesir to play with, well, let's just say he would have a lot of fun. "

"Please," Loki whispered, uncaring that he was stooping so low as to plead. Thor could not die, certainly not because of him.

"His skin will be picked at from the tips of his fingers—well, after his fingernails are pried off. Then, once all seven layers of skin have been broken through, his flesh will be pulled off until he is skinned like an animal."

"Stop!"

"His glorious golden hair? Ripped out of his head. His brilliant blue eyes? Gouged out with a rusty blade. Each of his teeth will be stomped out, his jaw broken so many times that he can 't breath out his mouth. His nose will be broken until he can't inhale—"

"Don't," Loki gasped, eyes brimming with wretched tears. "Take me instead, just…do not hurt Thor."

"Oh, and I forgot to mention. When he's lying there as a pile of meat and muscle, unable to breath, he will not die. Death will not collect his soul until his body decomposes. Loki, can you imagine how it would feel to have your body decompose while you are still alive?" War gave a long whistle. "Pretty painful."

Loki's shoulders lurched, eyes red-rimmed and burning. "P-please…he has done nothing wrong. I-I will do…anything." Gods, he was pleading like a servant, but if it would save Thor…he would do it. His brother was not allowed to die. The golden prince of Asgard could not be killed, not after all Thor had done. Damn Thor for being so strong. If he just could have killed him when he had the chance, nothing like this would have had to come to fruition.

"Anything? Loki, you are pathetic. Here, I'll make you a deal, I'll save your brother from dealing with mine."

Loki nodded, it didn't matter what War wanted, Loki would give anything to save Thor's life. No matter how much Loki claimed to hate and despise Thor…he had never been able to inflict much more than minor injuries. Even when he had dropped the class cage, he knew his brother would survive it.

"Death will be in the caves, I'll tell him you're coming. Wait for your brother, and when he arrives…kill him."

"What?" Loki stammered, his mouth falling open. "Kill—I can't—"

"If you 'can't do it' then too bad. Just know you'll be damning your precious Thor to the worst pain the world can bestow. This way, you can kill him quickly, humanely, however you want."

Loki swallowed thickly, tears rolling down his cheeks as he fought back sobs. He was trapped, and either way out meant that Thor was going to die. He could see his brother's warm smile, the booming laugh that he pretended to hate, but it actually reminded him of their youth and always made him smile when he thought back on it. Asgard needed his brother much more than they needed him, everyone needed Thor more than they needed the bastard son of Laufey. He shifted his leg and felt the vial of poison he had taken from Banner in his pocket. It would be quick, and painless enough.

"I…I accept."

War laughed. "Wise choice. I'm sure you'll get over it, at least, Thor will think you will. Because, you know, he thinks you hate his guts."

Loki flinched and hurriedly wiped the tears from his eyes, but his cheeks were soaked with them. War vanished, and the next instant he was snapped back to his position with his eyes closed—the horseman liked to pause time for their little meetings with him. His eyes opened and he tore free from the shackles and screamed into his muzzle.

Once he magicked himself into the caves, he sent a spell to turn a cavern into ice, curling up against himself and cursing between sobs.  _I'm sorry, I'm sorry._  It was a chant in his head as he coated the scythe in poison and froze it so that even the slightest puncture would melt it into Thor's bloodstream. He wiped his eyes and calmed himself, looking up as his brother—his ignorant victim—entered the cavern.

" _How good of you to come and visit."_


	29. Chapter 29

Steve wasn't very surprised when he woke up in a different time. The day before he had been with Bucky, drinking cream sodas on the street corner until Bucky found some girl to flirt with. Steve had expected things to go differently, for the past to have changed his entire future so that he wouldn't be introduced the serum, to Howard Stark, and that he would never board the spy plane to then plummet into the ice. It would be a lie to say that he had planned to wake up the next day, still scrawny, still waiting for his chance to enlist, or whatever Bucky thought he was interested in. Yet he wasn't surprised when he woke up in 2012, again.

He supposed that was due to the fact that it wasn't the first time he had skipped seventy years of his life. But instead of waking up in a faux forties hospital room, he woke up in his apartment. The apartment he had been given right after the Loki Mission. The one he moved out of a few months later. If he had gone forward in time, why not go backward too? Or maybe he had gone forward, he didn't know. Time didn't really matter to him anymore.

A screen lit up in his kitchen, detailing the day's events. Steve stared at it for awhile, then set about making breakfast. Wheat Bran was the only cereal he could really tolerate, everything else felt like he was eating straight from a bag of sugar. Future—present America seemed to like things full of salt and sugar. Some of them were good, like the hamburgers (though after Bruce showed him a feature-lengths newsreel about them, Steve had been hesitant to eat them when they weren't guaranteed beef) or the soda.

The screen lit up again, showing a picture of Tony. Right, that meant that he was receiving a phone call. Steve leaned over the counter and pressed the green button on the screen. A timer started, and for a moment he thought that it was a bomb, then remembered that phones tracked call length. Proably to save on the phone bill or something.

"Mornin', Man With A Plan," Tony greeted. He sounded about ten years younger than he had yesterday. Well, than he had back in 1939.

"Good morning, Tony. How are you?" Steve replied after swallowing a spoonful of Wheat Bran.

"Clint and I are going to Hawaii for the weekend. We were—"

"I'm going too," Pepper cut in. Steve smiled. He really liked Pepper, she was always nice to him and was the only person that could diffuse Tony when he started going nuts about something.

"Pepper's going too. Anyway, we thought you should come. It about time you cut the whole pasty-white schoolboy look."

Steve looked at the clock on the stove. He didn't really want to go much of anywhere, he needed a nap.

"Hey." Tony's voice softened a bit. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'm not really in the mood for the beach right now. Maybe next time." He spooned more Wheat Bran into his mouth.

"Don't tell me this is about money again. I'm buying, we're taking my private jet and staying at my beach ho—"

"It's not about the money. I just don't feel like it. "

Tony didn't seem to like that. "Are you okay, Steve? Clint and I are gonna come check on you if you tell me you don't want to go to Hawaii."

In Steve's mind Hawaii was still smoking from the attack on Pearl Harbor, even though that had taken place a few years before his enlistment. "I won't be here. I'm going out."

"Like, out on a date?" Tony's voice brightened with interest and he was sure he could hear him whispering something to Pepper.

"Yeah. Like a date." Steve scraped his spoon on the side of his bowl, swirling the milk around.

"Is this with that girl you met? What was her name?" Tony's voice went a little muffled. "Pepper, what was that girl's name?"

"Carly." Pepper hissed in reply.

"Are you going on a date with Carly?" asked Tony, so earnestly that Steve could hear the smile on his face.

"Yep, Carly."

"Look at that! Steve Rogers getting serious! What number is this?"

"The sixth." He tried to sound excited, but he wasn't.

"What time?"

God, was Tony insistent. "In an hour. We're having brunch at her place."

"You better get ready. Do you want to borrow one of my cars? I can have Pepper drive one over for you," said Tony.

"No, that's okay. Hey, Tony…" he trailed off for a moment. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday, stupid. You don't have a hangover, do you? That's some bad luck right there."

"No, I don't have a hangover. I'm just going to brunch before I meet with Fury."

Pepper took over the phone as Tony started cursing about Fury. "Have fun, Steve. I'll make sure Tony doesn't try to track you down. But maybe you should leave your phone at home, just in case."

Steve chuckled at that. "Thanks, Pepper. I think I will."

Then the rustling at the other end of the line was gone and Steve knew that they had hung up. He cleaned up his cereal bowl (only half eaten) and checked the screen one last time to make sure he had the time right. Car keys were on a hook next to the door but Steve ignored them. He hadn't touched them since the day Fury handed them over. Looking at the black paint only reminded him of the previous owner: Agent Coulson. Coulson had apparently changed his will and had the car given to him for whatever reason. Steve had never touched it or driven it.

Walking out into the 21st century New York was always a bit of culture shock for him. People rushed down the sidewalk, talking loudly into phones or little earpieces. Sometimes there were women who strutted down the street in high-heeled boots and scandalous outfits who were apparently not prostitutes, as he had found out from a laughing Tony Stark. The air was thick and smoggy compared to the forties, and the skyscraper were true to their name, obscuring the sky and trapping the millions of people inside their walls.

His walk took the majority of his hour. Dodging taxis and bikes was no easy task for him. Subways screamed from below if there was ever a quiet moment, and honking cars were a never-ending chorus, even at ten in the morning. Carly always told him not to listen to them, to focus on his breathing or something else, but Steve was an observant person and couldn't focus on anything as unimportant as his own breathing. She always told him to take a breather when he felt anxious, but he always shrugged her off with a compliment about her hair or her outfit.

The flights of stairs up to Carly's place were tiring to most people, and Steve had to sprint up them just to look as winded as everyone else when he finally got to the top. He often did that, seeing as not many people took the stairs anymore. When he arrived at her door, his chest knotted tightly as he knocked. He should have just stayed home.

Carly opened the door with a wide, cheerful smile. She always said that showing teeth was the only way to show someone you trusted them. Steve could believe that, he supposed. "Good morning, Steve. How are you?"

"Pretty good," he replied, flashing a weak smile of his own.

"Well, come on in, I've already got everything settled."

Carly never called her office an office. It was her "place." She thought that office sounded too professional and intimidating. Her place smelled just as he remembered, like plants. Compared to the smoggy atmosphere outside, her place was probably the cleanest place in New York City. She had plants everywhere, from bamboo shoots to the tiger lilies in a vase on her desk. They were calming, or so she said.

Carly gathered her things and turned to him from her place behind the desk. "Do you want any coffee?"

"Sure. Extra cream, please." Steve didn't really like the taste of coffee, but he was never impolite, even though Carly always assured him that he didn't need to take any. He took his usual seat in front of a massive island plant that sometimes smelled like honey.

Carly poured a generous amount of cream into the mug and handed it over as she came to sit down on her chair, facing him. Then she set down a dish of lemon poppy seed scones, just like she had for the past…six times. Right.

An awkward silence settled over the small space, and Steve found himself looking over at her desk. There were no pictures there, just like he remembered, because Carly thought that it made some people feel lonely and less likely to talk. There were a few plaques displaying college degrees and certifications, and a Purple Heart sitting in a display by her computer.

"So, Steve, how have you been feeling lately?" Carly asked, causing him to turn back to attention.

"Pretty good."  _Aside from the fact that I don't know why I'm here and I'm probably dead right now._

Carly scribbled on her notepad for a few seconds before looking up at him. She knew that it made him nervous when she wrote things down. "Did you drive here?"

"No, I walked."

Carly nodded once, something he'd learned to recognize as disappointment. "Why did you walk? Driving is much easier."

She asked him this question every time he came in. "Because I don't like cars. Well, I don't like to drive them. They're a lot different than they were seventy years ago."

"Didn't Tony say he would buy you a car?"

"I don't want Tony to buy me a car. He buys me too much stuff." Steve started picking at the crack in the faux leather of the chair. If there were a clock, he would have been looking at it, but that was another one of Carly's policies.

"Tony is just looking out for you. Buying a car is probably the equivalent of buying you a candy bar," she chuckled, but Steve didn't join in her amusement. They both knew it was probably true, but Steve couldn't get the image of Tony out of his head from yesterday. He said something about breaking a cup. Damn, Stark had probably gone off the deep end and he'd done nothing about it.

"Okay, let's talk about something else. Have you had any more episodes in the past week?"

Steve blinked a few times. "I…I don't know what day it is."

That caught her attention and Carly began scrawling away on her notepad. "What day do you think it is, Steve?"

"I don't know." She probably thought that he thought he was in the forties. "It's 2012 and it's a Tuesday. I'm guessing that it's summer but I don't know what day."

"What's the last thing you remember from yesterday?"

He swallowed thickly. She would send him to the nuthouse if he answered honestly…but maybe she wouldn't. Maybe there was an explanation. "The last thing I remember, right. Yesterday I was drunk, it was 1939, and I was with Bucky. But I've already lived through that day before. I was…I was re-experiencing it. I got a second chance."

"Bucky was there? Bucky Barnes?" Carly was scribbling furiously now.

"Yeah. Tony was there too. He was warning me about…about something."

Carly's brow creased, a very bad sign. "What was Tony saying? Do you know why he was there?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She didn't believe him, and probably for good reason. "He was just there and he looked horrible. I think he was drunk. He told me to break the cup. I don't know what that means."

"How did it make you feel to see Tony there?"

It suddenly felt like an interrogation. What did it matter if Tony was there or not? None of this was real. But what if we woke up the next day and he had to relive Bucky dying? Or hear Peggy talking about their date that never happened?

"I felt…I was happy. I even told Tony to leave me alone because…"  _Because I would rather spend time with a ghost,_ he finished in his head.

"Have you told anyone about this? Tony, maybe?"

The last thing he needed was for this Tony to be upset too. Steve was already messed up as it was, SHIELD-enforced therapy was supposed to help him but all it had done was made him feel like he was failing. Therapy wouldn't change anything—actually, he knew it wouldn't change anything. A few months from now he would leave this "place" and never come back. It didn't help the nightmares and what-ifs that were bouncing through his head. It didn't stop him from feeling like complete shit around everyone else. Hell, Tony was just a normal guy and in his Iron Man suit he could beat Steve to Jupiter and back without batting an eye. They didn't need him.

"No, I haven't told Tony. I'm not going to tell Tony. I don't even know what time I'm supposed to be in! All I know is that Death sent me here and I can't get out."

"Steve, you need to take a few deep breaths. I'm not accusing you—"

He cut her off by standing up. "I'm not sitting in therapy anymore. I have to lie to everyone on my team just so that they don't think I'm going nuts," Steve snapped. "I'm not doing it anymore."

Carly stood up with him and rested a hand on his shoulder. Her gaze was calm, likely something she practiced every morning before coming to work, just like the way everything in her office was arranged just so. Six scones in the dish, two cups of coffee, both chairs at exactly 45 degrees, every day, exactly the same. She wasn't fixed either, he'd known that the second time they met.

"I know it's hard, and it may not seem like it's working." She sighed, slipping her hand away. "You were likely suffering from PTSD since Bucky died, Steve. We didn't know about it in the forties, people were just supposed to pick up and keep moving. You lived for a while with an extensive traumatic experience, made even worse by the serum. Then after sacrificing yourself for your country you woke up here."

Steve stumbled backward, knocking the chair from its usual position. He hated talking about this—he wasn't sick, he wasn't unstable, he was just normal. He was Captain America and that was all.

"The shock from that experience alone would be enough to put a lot of people in a mental hospital. Instead, you went out and fought a Norse god. " Carly said as she picked up his coffee mug. She pressed it to his chest and Steve wanted to refuse it, but couldn't. His personality had cursed him into being polite even when he didn't want to be. So unless Carly was going to try and kill him, he would take her stupid coffee and smile, which was exactly what he did.

"Treatment doesn't happen quickly. Most cognitive therapy takes six months, and really that's just a minimum time frame. This could take years Steve, most vet—"

"I'm not a veteran!" Steve snapped. "I'm still in the fight, it isn't over for me! Hell, I'm in a fight right now—you aren't real, all of this is just some twisted memory from Death!" He tipped over his coffee cup and the caramel-colored liquid splashed onto the floor. Carly's eyes widened as he brilliantly white carpet turned a muddy brown.

"Steve! What are you—"

"I don't care what I have or how long it takes to go through treatment. I don't want treatment!" It felt good to yell. To finally put a stain on the impossibly white surroundings of Carly's office. He never wanted to visit again, and if Death made him wake up in this hell again, he was going to…

Carly edged toward her desk, where a little button would call for security. Steve knew he would end up hurting someone if he stuck around so without another word he took his coffee cup and bolted.

The stairwell was the closest thing to him that could provide any sort of escape. The other direction was just a hallway full of identical white doors with white laminate flooring tiles on the ground and too-bright lights up above. A few other SHIELD therapists looked up in surprise as he burst out, but Steve didn't notice. Security was already making their way up the stairs so he couldn't go down. He glanced down at the black uniforms below and started sprinting up toward the roof. Going up high would only make things easier.

When he broke through the door of the rooftop, he was met with the foggy view of New York City in its entire grimy splendor. Though the SHIELD building was tall, other skyscrapers towered above it higher still, spearing through what Steve knew was a beautiful view of seascape that was now hidden behind them. His world was dead—both of his worlds were dead. Falling asleep again might mean waking up on the day Bucky died, maybe even at the moment Bucky died. Steve couldn't handle that, not a second time. It had been hard enough learning that none of the previous day had actually happened. He was in limbo and he wanted out.

So he approached the ledge of the building. Tony had tested his limits before, Steve knew that he could easily survive a drop of two stories, be injured form a drop from four, but ten or twelve and he would die. He peered over the edge and his palms began to prickle from the adrenaline and the coffee cup shook in his hands. Just a little jump and all of it would end. No more limbo, no more wondering what the next nightmare would be—or worse, what good days he would relive. One hop. He stepped up onto the barrier edge, then carefully brought up his other foot, wobbling a bit as he steadied himself. Cars honked below, but the sidewalk was mostly empty. Hopefully he wouldn't kill anyone when he landed. He closed his eyes, imagining that he was on the high dive in 1930, the rickety one that broke when Bucky's dad bounced on it too long.

"Whatever the hell you do, don't jump."

He whipped around and fell off balance, but was caught by a slender hand. Bloodshot eyes started into his and he could smell vodka. It was Natasha, but her hair was blonde and in disarray, her cheeks wet with tears. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, her lips sticking together from the saltwater that had collected there, "Please,  _please_  don't jump."


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part 1 of the three-part finale._

Steve could quite believe that he was looking at Natasha Romanoff. For one, she was crying—he hadn't even thought her tear ducts were capable of producing tears. Two, her hair was blonde, dyed so well that it looked completely natural. So much so that he wanted to ask if it was. Odd thoughts like that were running through his head as he tried to process what she'd just commanded him not to do. The smell of alcohol was strong, almost as bad as it had been on Tony. But he still wanted to jump. Natasha wasn't real either, Death had probably conjured her just to throw him off the scent. Or maybe he was crazy. For all he knew, everything that had happened with the horsemen was just a dream. No, that wasn't it. He knew for certain that he was in 1939 the previous day, and his Post Traumatic Whats-it-called had never involved anything that happened before the war.

"I'm gonna jump. I'm stuck in Death's little game and I can't get out," Steve said finally, looking down at the sidewalk below. Natasha wouldn't know what he was talking about, so it didn't matter what he said. She probably thought he was insane.

"Steve, you can't jump."

"Wrong," he snarled, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. "I'm not doing this again. I don't even know what day it is, hell, what year it is. 1939? 2011? 2012? I have no clue!"

Natasha shook her head, eyeing the coffee cup that Steve was still clutching tightly by the handle, so hard his fingers hurt. "You're right, this isn't real."

He blinked, looking back at her with suspicion in his eyes. Natasha knew how to play everyone on the team, even Loki. For all he knew, this was a plot by Fury and she was just here to make him feel like everyone was going to be okay when it wasn't.

"I was with Clint, in the caves. One minute we were sitting there looking for Death, the next minute I was being tackled by a pitbull."

So she was the real Natasha. Steve relaxed a bit. "So you know where we are?"

She swallowed, looking down at the pebbles that covered the rooftop. "I think we're dead."

It had occurred to Steve just that morning, in the fraction of a second as he woke up to find that he wasn't sleeping in his 1939 apartment. But this wasn't hell, and it sure wasn't heaven either. Purgatory, maybe? Even that didn't sound right.

"I don't. I ran into Tony yesterday."

Natasha shook her head. "Yeah, and I saw Clint leave for Brazil this morning." She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, composing herself in a matter of seconds.

"Is that why you're crying? Because Clint left?"

Her face soured. "No, Steve. My life doesn't revolve around Clint Barton," Natasha snapped. She was a little more forceful when she rubbed her eyes a second time. "You didn't see Tony, Steve. Not the real Tony. This is all some kind of illusion, a living memory."

Steve shook his head. "No, it was the real Tony."

"And how do you know that? Look, Steve—"

"I know it because it was 1939 and Tony Stark walked in the door when I was buying a soda with Bucky Barnes."

She shut her mouth and nodded once. Steve knew she had read his file, she knew who Bucky was.

"What did he say?"

Steve stepped down from the edge, his heart still racing from staring down at the sidewalk below. He was so close to doing it; all it would have taken was a little hop. Then he tried thinking about what Tony had said to him in the shop. All he really remembered was that Tony smelled—reeked—of booze and looked like a train hit him. Bloodshot eyes, a frown that made him look twenty years older. Holding a—Steve blinked, looking down at his hand. A coffee cup.

"He told me to promise that I would 'break the cup.'"

As ridiculous as it sounded, Natasha didn't look surprised. "Does that make any sense to you?"

"Tony was holding a coffee cup when he walked in the store. That's all he said though—for me to promise to 'break the cup.'"

"That's the best we've got. Do you think a bottle would count?" She lifted the vodka bottle. That had to be it. Steve lifted his coffee cup, then at the wall of the exit he'd come out of just a few moments ago.

"Couldn't hurt to try."

Natasha needed no more convincing and hurled the bottle into the wall. Steve shielded his eyes as a shower of glass sprayed all over him. Once it was over, he looked up, but Natasha wasn't there. He hoped that was a good sign. Gripping his coffee cup, Steve threw it as hard as he could. It hit the wall and shattered into hundreds of ceramic pieces.

Then everything turned to pain, darkness, and burnt skin.

 

* * *

 

The world came back to Clint in a haze. Where there was once nothingness and dark, now there was…space. And pain. It started in his head. A splitting headache that felt as though someone was trying to crack open his skull by smashing against a rock. Then it spread down through his spine, seizing every vertebrae and seemingly crushing it. He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move, leaving him to focus on the pressure threatening to crush his lungs. Clint tried to breathe, but blood spurted from his mouth instead, spilling out and dripping onto the rock floor below him. The sound reminded him of pouring a pitcher of lemonade.

Suddenly, his lungs began to sputter to life, wrenching in his chest as though they were being stomped on. More blood flew from his mouth, but Clint was barely aware of it. There was only pain, and now it was everywhere. He wasn't a kid anymore—there was no more Barney, no orphanage, no dog, he could tell that much. There was darkness, and a faint glow of firelight. Protocol began to sink in and he tried to check himself for anything that was broken, but a fresh wave of pain in his stomach quickly stopped that as he retched onto the floor. Air began to mingle with the blood in his lungs, giving him just enough energy to open his eyes a bit more.

The sight before him was grim. Thor was lying there uninjured, but foam lined his lips. It was dry, and the lack of movement from the thunder god was too unnatural. Clint didn't have to guess, Thor was dead. A choked sound escaped the archer, but he knew better than to dwell on the death of a partner while the mission was still active. But Thor…Thor was supposed to be the one they could count on, the one who would survive. The mighty warrior looked pained, even in death, his blue eyes barely reflecting the firelight.

Clint shifted his head and heard a crack in his neck, not a healthy one. As quickly as it happened, he could not longer feel any of the pain below his broken rib cage. His eyes widened. His neck—was that the sound of his neck breaking? He'd snapped a few in his time as a SHIELD agent, but it was always a much louder snapping noise…not that. He didn't dare move his head again.

The world blurred again, and another onslaught of pain erupted behind his eyes. Clint battled for consciousness, but his head was starting to loll.

"Hey, buddy." A soft voice sounded above him, trembling slightly. Clint blinked slowly, eyelids drooping.

"Bruce." He tried to smile, but his lips only twitched a bit. Bruce didn't look so good. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot. Something was off about him, but Clint couldn't find the brainpower to pinpoint what it was. Everything was fading, slipping away from him as quickly as it came.

"I'm going to put you on the ground, okay?"

Clint's eyes widened in fear. Bruce couldn't move him, his neck was probably fractured in a few places, if moving his head had broken it once already, there was no telling what would happen if he were picked up! But the scientist couldn't hear his silent plea, and lifted him, one hand firmly supporting his neck. Tears left Clint's eyes unbidden from the feeling of being gutted alive from the inside out. He couldn't count how many broken ribs he had, his legs were probably broken, and his fingers wouldn't move when he tried to wiggle them. The headache was probably the feeling of his skull being broken. It had to be fractured.

"What happ…" He couldn't finish his sentence for some reason and ended up speaking jargon instead.

"You killed Hades, but then you were knocked off a ledge. The Other Guy tried to reach you, but you landed first."

Clint's brow twitched, but he found he could no longer speak. Bruce read his mind.

"I got Natasha, but she hit a rock on the way down. Death got her too. But she's okay now."

Clint knew that Bruce was lying to him. Natasha was not okay, not if Death had taken her too. He briefly wondered if Bruce had experienced something like what he had gone through. The scientist had briefly spoken about trying to kill himself once—well, Clint had been a bit too busy under Loki's control to hear it himself, but it was in Bruce's file. That seemed like something Death would prey on, yet Bruce only seemed upset because, well, Clint was dying.

He shouldn't have even survived the fall. Yet here he was, bleeding internally in so many places that there was likely no hope of saving him. Broken neck, fractured skull, busted rib cage. Clint knew he wasn't going to survive.

A loud gasp snapped him back to attention. His eyes flicked to the source of the noise, trying to focus his vision. Bruce turned, gripping Clint's arm a little tighter out of reflex. As Clint's eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw Steve slumped against the cavern wall, eyes wide. There was a massive blood spot where Tony had shot him at Churchill Downs—evidently the wound had reopened or something of the sort. Steve's cheekbone was very obviously shattered, and the bone above his brow was dented grotesquely. Clint swallowed, sending fire down his throat.

The Tony appeared beside the Captain. He looked perfectly fine excepted for a few scratches on his face—that is, until he turned to stare at Steve head on and Clint noticed a rather large piece of metal lodged into his back. The light caught it just so when Tony shifted, revealing that the metal came through the other side, dripping blood steadily onto the floor. Bruce gasped for him, but the scientist didn't seem all that surprised.

Funny—they were supposed to win this battle. They had bested Famine, slaughtered War and shot Conquest. Death was supposed to be difficult, but they were supposed to win. They always won. The Avengers weren't capable of losing. After all, who could defeat a Norse god and an invincible green monster that were on the same team? But he supposed that there was no one that was truly invincible. Where there was great good, there was also great evil. If didn't matter if everyone was rooting for them, or if they were given motivational speeches before they entered the ring. It didn't matter if they were beaten down to their last breaths, where every inhalation was a struggle.

There was no voice to say that it was going to be okay, because the heroes never died, because life was not a movie. Life was not a fairytale.

In the real world, in their world, the villain could win; there was no three-part structure to a real, living story. No one wanted to hear about the team that was brought to their knees in desperation, who got back on their feet only to be thrown to the dirt again. There were no stories where the hero didn't succeed. Their lives were no story; they were fickle, harsh, and merciless.

Tony gently eased Steve into a more upright position, prompting the soldier to groan and more blood to stain his outfit. Tony's hands were visibly shaking as he gingerly pulled away, as though afraid to touch him.

They were all going to die, Clint realized. There was no escape from it now. Where they had avoided the horsemen's powers with their amulets, they were useless now except for casting a bluish glow to their sallow faces. There would be no more Avengers, no more missions, no more interplanetary aid from kindhearted thunder gods. Thor had beaten them to the punch. He was already gone—stiff and without breath. The only thing he could think about was when Thor had his cheek pressed against the car window like a sad puppy while they drove to the airport.  _"Loki wants to see me,"_  he had said.  _"But he says this will be the last time."_

And how stupid Clint felt now. He'd thought Loki meant he was going to leave and go back to wherever he'd hidden himself. Not that Thor would be the one to die. Thor hadn't thought that either, he supposed, which probably explained the hurt still frozen on his face. He shut his eyes.

"There there," a sinister voice broke the relative silence around them. A man was standing a little ways from Tony, his skin translucent and greenish. His skeleton was visible in some places, his skin increased in opacity depending on the light. Or something. Clint expelled a quiet breath. This was obviously Death.

He was wearing a cap that looked like a police officer's, but it was slanted forward more. Clint realized that it was a Union uniform form the Civil War. How quaint.

Death didn't have any eyes, just black sockets. He didn't really have a nose either, but it seemed to fit him. The blue uniform on his shoulders was faded and worn, rustling softly as Death strode forward. The quiet tap of a cane accompanied every step, one that was black and slender, clearly just for show. Bruce stood, but faltered immediately and fell to his knees with a thud.

"Let's not be upset, dear Bruce," Death murmured, cocking his head slightly. He used his cane to tip Bruce's head up, then smiled, though it was hard to tell when they could only really see the skull behind his skin. "I've healed you from your illness, I've granted your wish from all those years ago. What was it that you said?"

There was a pause, but Bruce didn't answer.

"You told me you wanted to be rid on the monster inside of you, the sick creature that was tearing you apart." Death gave a little shrug. "And here, I've granted your wish. No more 'Other Guy.' Yet you are still upset with me. That's a little unappreciative, isn't it?" Death drew the cane away, and the little raven's head on the end glimmered as the end cracked against Bruce's temple. The scientist cried out, falling to to his side on the ground. Clint tried to move, but remembered that he couldn't.

"Ah. You have realized that you need that monster, haven't you?" Death clucked in disapproval. "Your 'monster' defended you from the radiation. Without it, you have nothing but decaying body mass. There will be some disfigurement, probably. You were exposed to quite a lot of gamma rays." The half-skeleton chuckled, then turned to Tony.

"Tony Stark—"

"What did you do with my suit, you bastard?" Tony interrupted, eyes wild with rage.

"Calm down—"

"I don't need the speech," the billionaire snarled. "I'll take you on, I don't care if I die."

Suddenly Death changed into a man just a little older than Tony, with strikingly similar facial features, and the same chocolate eyes. "Now, Tony, let's not be upset." Even his voice sounded similar.

Tony's eyes widened, stumbling backward into the wall and driving the metal piece further out his other side. A scream echoed off of the cavern walls before he spoke, "Stop doing this! Pretending to be my dad isn't going to make me want to kill you any less!"

Clint blinked slowly. That was Howard Stark? He'd always expected him to be…meaner-looking.

"Or how about you, Steve?" Death changed again, into a woman this time. She wore a bright red dress to match her lipstick, and brown curls that went just past her shoulders. "Did you miss me at all when you came back?"

Steve snarled something incoherent, but his eyes were glazed with fear. The woman—Death—smiled, then changed back to his original form.

"All of you would be so easy to take, one snap of my fingers and I would have each and every one of you. Well, assuming you wanted it. Unlike my brothers and sister, I don't have any powers aside from illusion. I can build worlds in your mind—worlds that make you happy while your body starves. At least, that was how it used to be. Now they can delay me a few years with all of your machines, but even humans give up after a few years of silence from one they love." Death knelt down beside Thor, tracing his fingers along the god's cheek. "I am a choice."

"Well you can run on back to whatever pit you were born in, because you aren't going to have my 'choice,'" Tony snapped.

Death chuckled, tapping Thor's body on the nose before standing up again. "I didn't say all of my worlds were happy. I've given you a taste of both, one good day, one bad. Tell me, Tony, would you like to relive the years with your father?" Death's eyes sockets glimmered briefly with firelight.

"As long as you don't have my soul, yeah," Tony answered, though some of the color left his face.

"I'm curious to see if you would say the same if I showed you everything. Your mother, how your father asked her to give you up." He shrugged. "Or perhaps I can show you her death, or the time when you were a toddler when dear Howard forgot about you at daycare. For two days, drunk on a boat, looking for our very own Steve Rogers."

Tony swallowed thickly. Clint didn't really understand what was happening, but his conscious stayed enough that he could watch without fading out. Death took a few steps closer, peering at the shrapnel in Tony's gut. Suddenly a skeletal hand was wrapped around the metal, cranking it sideways. Tony screamed again, doubling over and clutching feebly for the wound.

"Or you can live. You can live in this much pain for the rest of your life, forever. Your empire will fall, Pepper will die, you will go bankrupt and one day you will wake up and plead for death. But I will not come."

"And why would I ever want to die?" Tony sputtered, tears running from the corners of his eyes.

"Oh please. You've wanted to die before." Death took a deep breath, but the sound was eerie. "Perhaps you need some time to think." He jerked the piece of shrapnel and whipped his cane against Tony's calf, causing the billionaire to fall to the ground with a cry of pain. Then the horseman turned to Steve again, jabbing the end of his cane into the dark blotch of blood. The Captain whined, a pathetic sound that Clint could tell was a last resort. Steve was dying too.

"And you, my little soldier. So brave and daring, but so broken. Tell me, have the nightmares stopped? Do you still jump at the sound of planes?" Death shook his head. "You should have jumped that day. Better death than living in a world that is no longer yours. But you know that." Death shoved the bane a little deeper into Steve's wound, driving a low groan from the soldier. Clint closed his eyes, unable to watch when the sounds of pain continued.

But shutting his eyes only made the sound of Bruce's torture louder in his ears, the sucking breaths of a body that was destroying itself. He didn't want to watch his friends die, but he didn't want to listen to them either. He would relive all of the worst memories the horseman could conjure, if only to save his friends.

"Hawkeye," Death hissed. "The orphan boy with a bow. You've taken quite a tumble, haven't you?"

Clint glared up at the ghostly figure, the only movement he could feel comfortable with. Well, everything was painful and uncomfortable, but moving meant that he could further injure himself.

Death crouched with a ghoulish smile on his face. Freezing hands were suddenly at his neck and Clint could only hope that—

But it was too late to hope. Death wrenched his head sideways, sending a chorus of snaps and pops ringing in Clint's ears. His hands went numb, his shoulders went numb, every feeling was suddenly gone from him.

"No more archery for you, my friend," Death said, patting his cheek. Clint only knew that because he saw it—he couldn't feel anything. But he could hear his heart slowing to a stop, dying out as the paralyzation set it. Yet he didn't die, even when the beating in his chest stopped completely. Of course, Death wasn't just going to let him bail out. It was a strangely visceral feeling, like his soul was trapped and trying to find a way out. Well, now he could understand why ghosts were so pissed off on TV all the time.

Death stood, looking back into the darkness that Clint couldn't see. "Come closer, my pet."

Clint blinked (unsuccessfully, as his eyelids wouldn't move) and saw none other than Loki step into the dim light of the cavern.


	31. Chapter 31

Loki would never allow himself to be called a pet by anyone. Under normal circumstances he would have come up with a scathing retort and a threat that was so detailed that Death would be shaking in his not-quite skin. But that was under normal circumstances. In this case, something was very wrong. His insides were twisting, his heart stuttering in his chest as though confused. Something was missing from him, and that something was Thor.

He made a point not to look at his brother's body lying on the floor, right where he had sent it with magic. His entire life he had wanted Thor dead. The mighty Odinson, the stealer of Asgard's love and goodwill. Thor left nothing for him but shadow, spell books, and seconds. Loki tried to make himself angry about it—but he just couldn't. Though his body was reacting to the loss…he was happy. Thor, the greatest burden on his life, was gone. He was free. None would ever be able to hunt him down and sentence him to punishment ever again. He didn't miss his brother, even if his very blood was telling him differently. He, Loki, would be the one deserving of Mjolnir, of the crown.

But his body was weary, and a wave of loss ripped away his momentary triumph. Thor was the only one who had ever cared for him, even when the rest of the Nine Realms had turned their backs. Without Thor, his light, there was only the darkness that would never end.

Death slithered over to him, flashing a mostly-skeletal smile. The other Avengers were dying all around, he had spotted Natasha just a little ways from the lanterns, breathing in short bursts as her body trembled violently. The archer had a broken neck, that was obvious by the way his chest wasn't moving and his body was limp. Stark had a large piece of shrapnel sticking completely through him, gasping for air as the wound bled buckets onto the floor. The soldier's skull looked visibly fractured and Banner's body was killing itself, or so it looked.

And in all the chaos, Loki just wanted to go…home. To Asgard. But perhaps Asgard was not where his home was…perhaps…He glanced down at Thor, immediately wishing he hadn't. He wanted to go to a place where his brother would be waiting to crush him against his chest in a painful embrace, laughing like an idiot and tossing him around like a ragdoll. Instead he would be met with an empty throne and a hollow, winged helmet staring him in the face each time he entered the vaults.

"Loki. I can see it in your very being, Laufeyson," Death hissed. "You do not wish to live any longer. What will you do if you stay here? You know you cannot return home."

Loki said nothing, staring at the dark emptiness behind his dead brother.

"You think of returning to claim the throne, to take Thor's place. Then who will you become? Will you be wise, honorable, and foolish, as Odin was?" Death chuckled darkly. "We both know you cannot be honorable, nor are you a fool. So you will become Laufey then. Like your true father. Cruel, deceptive, ruthless."

"No," Loki snarled. "I am nothing like Laufey, I am no Frost Giant, nor am I Aesir. I am  _king_."

Death nodded, turning on his heel to glance back at the Avengers. "Yes. You poisoned your own brother to achieve your destined greatness. You killed him in cold blood to achieve your greatest dream: ruling Asgard as king."

No, he wanted to say, that was not why. War had forced him to let Thor die, to kill him so that Death wouldn't strip his life away but never fully take it. He did it on the foolish notion that it would repay the kindness his brother showed him, so that there would be no more debt between them. The score had finally been settled. But Loki wasn't sure if that was his only motive, so he stayed silent.

"You…you  _bitch_ ," Tony spat, blood spattering onto the cavern floor. "You bitch!"

Loki didn't look over, but kept his gaze straight on.

"Thor misses you," Death said suddenly. The words clawed at his heart. "He searches the darkness for you. He is all alone, yet all he wishes for is…" The horseman paused, as if listening. "To apologize to you. For…for bringing you here."

Loki blinked hard, nearly stumbling backward. He looked over to Death, eyes glassing over despite himself. Thor was searching for him, alone in the depths of whatever Hel that Death had created. Just to apologize for something that was meaningless! The oaf needed to be watching out for himself, not looking for someone who wasn't going to be there for millennia!

"I can take your life, Loki. And I promise I will return your brother to you, I will make it so you find each other again. All I want is your life, and the lives of these petty humans."

Tony shifted again, filling the cavern with the sharp sound of metal sliding across rock. "Well….I don't give you the…right to let someone else decide…what happens with my soul. Or anyone's…soul."

Death laughed. "Dear Tony, I've already taken your life once, I do not need permission from you. But Loki…Loki is the one who brought you all together. The bringer of fate, so to speak." Dead eyes came to linger upon green. "Under these rather…apocalyptic circumstances, I need Loki's permission. Once his life is taken, yours can be taken as well."

Tony groaned before speaking again, "Then what was…what was that stunt you just p-pulled?"

The horseman shrugged. "Just a teaser while I moved you all here. Oh, do you mean the cups? Ah, yes, that was just a bit of fun." His brow quirked to an amused expression. "At what point does the glass go from half full, to half empty? And what happens when we break the glass altogether?"

Tony made a strangled noise, then slumped back against the wall, visibly pressing the metal shard further through him. Death cracked another smile before turning back to Loki.

Loki wasn't sure what they were going on about, but it didn't matter.

"So, Trickster. It's your choice, your voice will speak for all of them. Do you want to live, or do you want to return to your brother and die?"

He imagined dying. A weightless feeling, like falling into the abyss. Except this time, when he fell into a dark new world, Thor would be there. No more foolish searching for him, but also no more days of gold plate and lightning skies. Only darkness. But they would be brother again, together.

Yet he could see some time over the eternity, Thor asking him what had happened. He could see the sorrow cross the Aesir's face as the realization set in, the despair. Then they would be distant again, but there would be no fixing it this time. So either way he would be stuck in world without his brother. Loki cleared his throat, blinking slowly and smiling faintly at the remembrance of Thor presenting him with that damned Midgardian kitten they had left back in Asgard.  _"For when you feel lonely, brother. In case I am not there."_  Loki lifted his head, staring Death in the face, though his voice shook when he spoke,

"I will live."

Death's jaw went slack in obvious surprise. "You—what? You cannot decide to live! You are the weak link, the bastard child with no place here!" The horseman came forward, but his hand passed through Loki's body. Hissing in surprise, Death stepped back. "No…I waited thousands of years. I chose you, the supposed God of Chaos, to destroy this wretched planet. You cannot deny me!"

But Death's body was fading into nothingness. Loki watched with a guarded expression as the horseman's voice went silent, then the ghostly form vanished into nothingness. Loki knew that Death wasn't dead. Nor was War, Conquest, or Famine. But they were delayed, likely until long after all of their deaths.

"Bruce?" Loki turned at the sound of Tony's voice. Banner was sitting up, breathing hard, but well again. The scientist looked at his hands, flexing them as if to make sure he was really still alive. Then Banner's amulet snapped, breaking the glowing blue amulet. The element inside of it flickered out.

Soon after, Tony began to heal, and the shrapnel was pulled from his body by Steve, whose skull had returned to normal and his eyes bright. Natasha rushed over to Clint when he began to cough and come back to life, terrified, but breathing. Smiles broke out in the darkness, and happy sounds began to fill the cavern as the Avengers healed,

"We won, dammit!" Tony cried, laughing as he gave Bruce a crushing hug, then turned to Steve to do the same. The soldier murmured something that Loki could not hear, but gave Tony's shoulder a shake that suggested he was thanking him for something. Clint slowly stood up and crossed over to Bruce, going to shake his hand. After a shake, the archer gave up and just flat out hugged him. Even Natasha gave Steve a meaningful cuff over the head, but there was obviously something unspoken about the movement that Loki could not recognize. All of the Avengers were celebrating. All but one.

Loki's gaze shifted away from the celebration to Thor's body, still lying on the dank floor. The Aesir had not moved at all. While excited talk washed over the cavern, exclamations of how they all knew that they would win in the end, Loki silently moved beside his brother. He moved to his knees, gazing down at Thor's face with an expectant smile. His hand reached out to press to Thor's chest, waiting for his heart to begin and for the embrace that would come after what would surely be a moment of panic.

And so Loki waited, his eyes brimming with happy tears and his lips spreading into a wider and wider smile as he waited. Clint retold the story of how he shot Hades with a blue tip arrow, and apologized to Natasha for the hundredth time for not catching her. Their happiness was not complete, even in their voices there was evidence of shock, of trauma. And still Loki waited alone.

"Thor," he murmured, drawing his hand from Thor's chest to his shoulder and giving a little shake. "You can wake now, brother. Death is gone from us, we are victorious."

Sightless blue eyes did not shift their gaze, nor did any warmth come back to now-cool skin.

Loki's smile flickered, his brow creasing ever so slightly in confusion. He shook his brother again. "It is Loki, Thor. Your brother. Come back now, all is finished."

But Thor did not stir.

The tears of happiness turned bitter in his eyes and Loki's smile broke. He shook Thor more violently, his voice straining. "Thor, get up, you oaf. I know you are not dead."

The room went silent around him, but Loki didn't notice. He watched his brother intently, searching for any sign of life. All of the rest had been healed, so why not Thor? Why was it taking so long for him to come back? "Brother, please," he whispered, clutching tightly to the fabric of Thor's cloak. Nothing. Thor was not going to return to him. That wasn't the deal, the deal was that the humans would be safe—Loki had thought that Death only referred to the Avengers, of which Thor was part of. Loki gripped tighter, leaning over his brother to look for any semblance of life in his eyes.

"Please," he whispered. "Do not leave the throne to me. Do not leave me here alone, Thor." But the tears were rolling down his cheeks now, and he was cursing each one. Thor had to come back. He simply had to. "Please!" Loki cried, burying his head to Thor's chest, he didn't care if the Avengers were standing there—he would end anyone who dared say anything about Thor, or anyone who dared to try and touch either of them.

"We're safe now," Loki breathed, muffled by the fabric of Thor's armor. But his brother's chest was cold, and there was no heartbeat any longer. "I said that we're—we're—" He could no longer hold it back, no matter how hard his pride was fighting him to keep contained. He sobbed openly, moaning in despair. All he had done was lost. Thor was dead and not coming back. Still searching for him, no doubt. Searching all alone in the darkness. It wasn't fair. All of the humans were allowed to live, but Thor was still dead. Thor would have outlived all of them—why wasn't he coming back?

Loki clutched at Thor's collar, vision blurred by tears. "Come back to me!" he screamed, lifting his brother lightly just to slam him back to the floor. "You cannot go to Valhalla without me, you brute! I won't allow it! Do you hear me, Thor? Not without me!" He slammed his brother down over and over again, screaming at him until his throat turned to sandpaper.

Then hands grabbed his forearms and yanked him away, causing Loki to start shouting as loud as he could. "Unhand me—don't you touch him! Don't touch him!" But they did anyway. Steve held him back while Bruce, Tony, Clint and Natasha lifted his brother off of the floor. Loki writhed against Steve's hold, kicking out wildly. "Leave him be—he is my brother! Put him down this instant!" But it was no use.

Loki gradually fell limp from grief, devolving into quiet sobs in the darkness of the cavern. Steve slowly eased him to the ground again. Cries of anguish left his throat, cries that echoed back at him. Thor was dead. Thor was  _dead_.


	32. Chapter 32

It stormed the day of the funeral. Bruce was the one assigned to stand next to Loki during the memorial service—as he was the only one who was strong enough to hold back the god at full power. Things had changed after Death's games, he and the Other Guy had a sort-of agreement with each other. As long as Bruce was in danger or his life being threatened, he didn't change forms. But now, he could draw on a good portion of Hulk's strength even in his human form. Thus, he was the only one strong enough to hold Loki back.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain picked up as they stood in the courtyard Loki had seemed good enough—though he wouldn't allow them to bury Asgards most beloved warrior. Bruce could understand that, but he didn't know what they were going to do with the body. Apparently, Loki wasn't permitted for interspace travel without his brother, and Hamdeisel or whatever his name was, wasn't allowing Loki passage back into Asgard, unbelieving that Thor was truly dead. From what they got out of Loki, the whole affair had been concealed from Asgard's gatekeeper because of magical energy, or something. Bruce didn't really know.

Since "The Incident," as SHIELD called it, Fury was a little less concerned about otherworldly threats and more concerned about what was lurking on Earth. They still weren't really sure if the horsemen were actually dead or not, but they all had new pendants and pendant replacements at the ready in case anything happened. Bruce didn't think the horsemen were going to be much of an issue anymore, but they were in a lot more danger with Thor gone.

It was still hard to believe. Even as the raindrop splattered on Thor's casket, Bruce half-expected the thunder god to burst out of the sky and start laughing at them for thinking he was really dead. But Thor was inside the casket—Loki had checked at least fourteen times between SHIELD Headquarters and the funeral courtyard.

Loki was taking it a lot harder than Bruce had anticipated. He was pretty sure they'd hated each other, but evidently that wasn't the case. It took four hours to clear the caverns after Death's attack, but nothing was found. Two hours after that and Steve finally managed to (literally) drag Loki out of the cavern. For the past two weeks, the trickster god was deathly silent and more expressionless than any other time they had seen him. He didn't eat, he didn't drink, he didn't even move. Until nighttime, that is.

At night, Loki would scream. Hellish cries would reach all through Stark Tower and they were so bad that even Tony, who barely slept as it was, built a soundproof chamber and forced Loki to sleep inside it. Even then, the screaming and wailing reached two floors in either direction. Tony ended up sleeping on the shag carpet on the top floor, and by the end of the week Bruce was sleeping there too, in a chair.

The sound reminded him of a time when he was little. A litter of kittens was born a few houses down, and one day a few women came and captured the malnourished bundles. It took two hours for the mother to grasp what had happened, and then she began to call for them. All through the day and night, for three days straight. Bruce had cried then, for the sound of a grieving mother, even if it was a cat, was too painful for him to bear, especially when he knew what had happened to her babies. Then, one day, she stopped calling. Bruce never saw that cat again.

Loki's grieving rivaled the cries of that mother cat. Actually, it surpassed them. Bruce walked into the kitchen one morning to find Tony, bleary-eyed and crying over the sink. Of course, he denied it and cracked an onion joke, but Bruce knew the truth. They were all affected by it—Thor was a huge part of the team. Aside from Loki, Clint was probably the hardest hit. Clint and Thor had spent the tail end of the mission together, visiting some crack house in Flint, Michigan on an undercover mission. If anything was positive about Thor's death, Clint and Loki were on better terms, but that was about as far as the good news went. Even Natasha was caught rubbing her eyes when they went out to dinner and accidently reserved six seats instead of five. No one found their appetite when there was an empty chair staring them in the face.

Another roll of thunder passed over the small crowd of SHIELD agents, the Avengers, and a few people from New Mexico. Loki had tried to attack them the instant he caught sight of them, but now he stood stock still, staring at the casket. One of the women, Janice or something, was crying particularly hard, but even Bruce was a little miffed by it. She hadn't been there during any of the fight, even Tony didn't know her name, but here she was, sobbing her eyes out. Natasha explained quickly that Jane had some sort of fling with Thor, but that made Bruce all the more annoyed with her.

Steve shifted awkwardly beside him, clearing his throat as Fury stepped up to lay the first flower on the casket.

"He was a good guy. Spoke like some old English guy, but I liked him," Fury nodded once, and stepped back.

Tony took a long pull from his poorly concealed flask, then stepped shakily over to the casket, haphazardly tossing a bundle of mangled flowers onto the polished oak. "Dammit, Thor. You were supposed to…you were supposed to be around so I could show you the damned Internet. Now I gotta teach Steve by himself, and Steve's an idiot."

Natasha murmured quietly when she approached, but her expression was unreadable. Clint didn't even say anything when he placed his roses. Bruce listened to the rain as the rest of the group went about their grieving. He barely remembered when Thor had stopped him, well, the Other Guy, from killing Natasha. Thor was genuine and kind hearted, and always just so…cheerful, about everything. When they were out in New York before sending him and Loki back to Asgard with the Tesseract, people would recognize them and start swarming. Thor would just greet all of them with a warm smile and hug them all until Tony pried him off and shoved them toward McDonald's to see how many Big Macs Thor could eat in one sitting (28, but then they were kicked out of McDonald's for holding up the burger production).

"Thor was great, not many people can use the Empire State Building as a lightning conductor. We were both the foreigners to 2012, and it was nice to, you know, know someone else was learning too," Steve said, swallowing thickly, tears in his eyes. "I didn't know what he was talking about half the time, but I don't think he knew what I was talking about either. To Thor, I was just a 'Warrior of the Second War of Midgard.' I guess I was." Steve wiped his eyes, gently placing his rose onto the casket and readjusting his suit.

Bruce didn't have a rose to give, he was tied to Loki. Loki didn't want to participate in some 'foolish sentimental practice' that he deemed unnecessary. They could only hope that the nightmares and screaming would stop. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't.

"Are you sure you don't want to say something?" Bruce asked quietly, his voice barely reaching over the sound of the rain. All of the Avengers were soaked through, opting not to bring umbrellas. Rain was part of Thor's powers.

"No," Loki murmured, his voice raw. "He cannot hear, so there is no need to speak to him."

Bruce shrugged, blinking away a raindrop sticking to the end of his eyelashes. "I guess that's true. So what'll you do now?"

"I will wait for him," Loki replied matter-of-factly, as though it was an everyday occurrence for Norse gods to spring up from the coffin.

"What do you mean? Loki…Thor is dead. He's not coming back," Bruce said, licking the rain from his lips.

"Valhalla doesn't allow souls that are not ready."

Bruce frowned, shaking his head a bit. "He isn't coming back. If anything…if anything, Death has him."

Loki flinched, but shook his head as the rain continued to pour, making the earth smell fresh again. "Thor told me it would storm this day, but I did not believe him. I disregarded it as my own thoughts. Yet, now it storms. It may take him a few weeks, or perhaps a few centuries, but he will return."

"I don't mean to upset you, but that's impossible. He—"

"How did it feel to have your monster ripped from you, Banner?" Loki asked quietly, watching as a few more black-clothed people lay roses on the casket.

Bruce swallowed. "I started to die. But that was different; I need the Other Guy to absorb the radiation that would kill me otherwise. I know that now."

"And could you feel a difference when your monster was returned to you?"

He shifted uncomfortably, not liking Hulk being called a monster, though that was what he was. "Yes."

Loki was silent for a long moment, watching intently as Jane tossed a bouquet of roses onto the large pile that had already accumulated. The god looked lost in thought, but after Jane was back into the mass of black dresses and suits, he looked up to the sky. "Thor is not dead. He is very much alive, but he is lost. Perhaps he will find a mortal to rest in for a little while, but he will find his way back to Mjolnir if he does not find me first."

Thor's hammer was still inside the caves somewhere, hidden away in one of the caverns. They would have taken it out, but no one even tried to lift it, knowing it would be useless. So it was there somewhere.

"When he finds Mjolnir, I will know, and I will return here."

"So you aren't going to stay with us anymore?" Bruce asked, quirking a brow.

The first smile since Thor's death appeared on Loki's face then, though it was small. "We both know I do not belong with the Avengers. I could never take my brother's place."

Bruce knew what that meant. "So we'll fight you again."

"Perhaps. But once Odin wakes from his sleep, I will have a kingdom to tend to," said Loki, swiping raindrops from his armor, though such an action was pointless.

"Oh, yeah. Well, I hope you can stick around a little bit longer, Tony wants to go on a road trip. Maybe you can find Thor, or whatever." Okay, so Bruce didn't believe that Thor was going to magically drop into someone's body to find his hammer in a cave, but it was a nice thought, and Loki seemed to be content with it.

Loki shook his head, a tiny smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "You have a warm heart, Banner, but there is much I must settle before I go looking for my brother. I have no desire to stay with the likes of the Avengers any longer."

Bruce shrugged. "Fair enough." He looked to the casket, dimly wondering how long it would be allowed to sit above the ground. If Thor was going to resurrect or whatever, he couldn't be stuck underground—not that Bruce believed any of it. "Okay, say he does come ba—"

He turned, but Loki wasn't there. Instead, there was a massive pile of roses, all of them gold. Bruce couldn't help but smile, looking up at the low clouds as a streak of lightning ripped across the sky.

"Hurry back, Thor, before Loki does something stupid."

The thunder rolled in answer and the wind began to pick up, flipping a few umbrellas inside out. A few roses were swept off of Loki's pile, one landing on Bruce's foot. The scientist reached down, plucking off of the ground. He examined the flawless gold leafing for a moment before striding to Thor's casket, placing his gold rose right on top.

"Hey, Bruce."

He turned to see Tony waving him over, the crowd dispersing due to the storm. "Yeah?"

"We're going to that Starbucks on eighth, the one where Thor pissed everyone off and broke stuff."

Bruce chuckled, "Yeah, I remember."

"So, you coming? And hey, where's Loki?"

He shook his head. "Loki isn't coming back. But sure, I'll go with you guys."

Tony frowned, then shrugged as though he was expecting Loki to vanish on them. It really wasn't that big of a surprise to Bruce either. Bruce smiled, quickly walking over to Tony and putting an arm on his shoulder.

Tony patted him on the back. "I think we should stop at that steakhouse down the street too. I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

Bruce rolled his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. "Still too soon."

Tony chuckled, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. That was okay though, because they were going to get better. They had defeated (at least, temporarily) the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. They lost a good friend and a great ally, but hey, maybe Loki was right and Thor really would show up someday to tackle them all in a bear hug. For some reason, it didn't feel so impossible anymore. They were going to be all right.

The rain continued on, beading clear little droplets on polished oak, unhindered by grief or sadness. The thunder rolled in a gentle laugh before fading into the nothingness from which it came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an epilogue, so don't hate me just yet.


	33. Chapter 33

Things began to improve after Thor's death, though not everyone believed he was actually dead. Steve didn't really mind all that much, he understood what it was like to try and deal with the loss of a friend. But Thor wasn't human, so perhaps there was some possibility that he was alive. Bruce had insisted that they not bury the casket and instead wait for the Asgardians to come to Earth to retrieve it. Whether or not they actually would couldn't be confirmed by anyone, as Loki had disappeared at the end of the funeral. Loki was planning something, Steve knew that much, but for some reason he knew it wouldn't be anything too difficult to handle. Not yet anyway.

Tony took it upon himself to restore every piece of technology that had been destroyed by the horsemen, and an entire branch of Stark Industries became devoted to the top-secret task. Money was funneled in from all kinds of sources that Tony had connections with—or something like that, Steve didn't really remember. Tony refused to touch Thor's room too, and permanently locked the floor from any elevator access, waiting until Thor showed up to tell him to turn it back on.

Tony thought Thor's death was his fault, of course, and no matter how long Steve tried to console him and tell him that Thor's death was  _Loki's_  fault, Tony wouldn't listen. Even so, Stark Industries hit a new high after the horsemen mission, which kept Tony busy for most of the week.

The whole ordeal had made them all closer. Natasha no longer skipped team dinners and Clint attended every Avengers briefing and training session—even if it conflicted with SHIELD duties. Natasha and Clint even moved into Stark Tower to control their operations from there instead of the still-damaged SHIELD Headquarters building. Tony didn't skip meetings anymore and Bruce tried to go on every mission that he possibly could. There were almost no independent missions any longer, which had made Nick Fury very pleased.

For Steve, life had changed a lot. He moved out of the retirement community and rented a space (Tony called it a rundown penthouse) on the street where he grew up. Some mornings he swore it was still the early 1930's and 40's, but then a modern taxi would drive by or a kid would run out into the street with a cell phone in hand. Steve no longer had to go to therapy sessions—even after Fury insisted that he start up again, and he credited that to his new living space.

For 21st century New York, his apartment was massive, but to Steve it was small and cozy. He had a little living room with a couch, coffee table and TV that he never watched, a bedroom that barely fit his bed and a nightstand, a bathroom, a little dining room, and a kitchen. Tony had custom furniture and appliances built to look like they were from the forties, but with all modern technology therein. It certainly helped Steve adjust to the newer things, though he felt bad about not being able to pay Tony back for it.

"Hey, Land of The Free, wanna go to Starbucks?" Tony asked over speakerphone as Steve made his way to the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. After figuring out that Tony had been trying to make him read about history, Bruce had decided it would be a good idea to have him watch a movie series about each decade. Along with his books, Steve felt he was starting to understand things a lot better, and he actually understood most pop culture references.

"Not really. I just made a mug of hot chocolate and I'm about to watch a show on the nineties," he replied, taking a sip of hot chocolate.

"Oh come on. I can teach you about the nineties, just come out to Starbucks with me."

Steve smiled. "No thanks. I don't really want to have to defrost my car."

"Did you leave that Mustang outside?!" Tony asked with horror. "That car is worth more than your apartment! I told you to take care of it!"

"I was kidding. It's in the garage out back, perfectly safe. But the roads aren't. there's supposed to be some sort of blizzard tonight, remember?" He peered out the window where fat snowflakes were already starting to fall.

"Yeah, I can see why you'd be scared of snow." He could hear the smirk on Tony's lips.

Steve took another sip of hot chocolate and snuggled into his fuzzy blanket that he'd left on the couch. "I'm not scared of snow. But I don't want to go walking around in it, and I really don't want to drive in it. Not all of us have heated driveways."

"You're a real smartass now that you've watched all of your old man history shows," Tony grumbled. "Fine, stay home and watch your stupid movie. Bruce and I are going to have a hell of a time without you."

Steve laughed. "Okay, Tony. Be careful out there, it might get bad."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll be home by ten, Mom. Bye."

Steve grinned, then flipped his phone shut. He turned on the TV and the Blu-ray player (he knew a lot more vocabulary now), and settled in for a night of the Backstreet Boys and Mary Kate & Ashley.

By midnight, the snow blocked the view of the streetlights outside of his window. Steve had only experienced similar conditions in Germany. The wind tore at the apartment and screamed bloody murder, but Steve wasn't alarmed. Blizzards were awful, but Tony had sent a text saying that he and Bruce had gotten home safe (sent by Bruce, Steve guessed that Tony was slightly drunk and that they hadn't stayed at Starbucks for very long), so he had no one to worry about. A bit of snow and ice was not going to keep him up all night. They had a training session the next afternoon, and Clint wasn't going to cancel just because of a few feet of snow. Steve made a mental note to bring something warm to wear the next day. They were probably going to go snow tunneling or something.

He changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of loose sweats, glancing out the window another time. The snowfall was so thick that he couldn't see anything but a moving canvas of white. The house creaked and groaned as the wind changed direction, but Steve hopped into bed regardless and pulled out a novel he'd started reading about Vietnam. A gruesome war, according to everything he'd ever read about it. Made worse by the fact that people didn't even appreciate the solders' work. He thumbed through the pages for another half-hour or so until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

His dreams had differed since the horsemen. Sometimes he saw Death, watching him from the shadows as he ran down deserted streets. Or he was back in Germany, riding his motorcycle as fast as he could with War riding right beside him, his horse burning as bright as flames. Conquest appeared too, like during the dream about somebody's wedding. He didn't remember whose wedding it was, but Conquest had been there, handing out bottles of champagne and laughing softly whenever men approached her. Then she would look at him and he would wake up drenched in sweat. Dreams of Famine were less common, probably because he'd never actually seen him. Nonetheless, sleep wasn't easy.

Steve's eyes flew open at the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut. His pulse quickened to a rapid pounding in his chest…until he realized that the wind had come through the window, shutting the door. He grumbled incoherently as he got out of bed and meandered over to the windowsill. Snow blew in, coating his waist in white fluff as he rammed the window shut again. He blinked, glancing outside into the blizzard.

The window wasn't supposed to be open.

The silenced breathed as Steve stepped away from the shaft of moonlight, brushing the snow from him shirt. No burglar was stupid enough to break into his house—everyone knew that this was where Captain America lived. But there was no way a window could open by itself. He glanced at the floor, but there were no wet spots to indicate that anyone had been inside. Even so, he ventured into the kitchen, fists clenched and ready to punch the living daylights out of anyone who dared to jump out at him.

After a search of the apartment, he found nothing. He considered calling someone, just to make sure this wasn't a trick or some training routine he didn't know about, but he could only imagine the laughter that would ensue from Stark if he called Stark Tower. Whatever it was—whoever it was—they hadn't done anything. There had been plenty of chances to attack him from behind while he searched the rooms. Nothing was missing either, and the JARVIS-esque security system that Tony had installed showed nothing. So Steve decided to go back to sleep after locking every window in the house. Once he was snuggled into the sheets, his nervousness evaporated in the form of a deep sleep.

He woke up to the room still dark around him. The blizzard still raged outside, but the window was shut and everything seemed normal. Steve sat up and was about to sigh when something heavy landed on his bed. A face appeared in the pale wash of light in the room, and Steve instinctively shot a knee up to throw his attacker off. Instead, hands clasped around his neck, freezing cold hands that felt like Death all over again. He kicked up with all of his strength, but the man didn't move his grip and only squeezed harder. Steve brought back a fist and punched the man straight in the chest but the man merely grunted and drove a knee into Steve's stomach.

Then the moonlight caught the man's face again and Steve's mouth fell open in surprise, his body relaxing immediately. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't Death's tricks. This wasn't anything supernatural at all. He could feel it in his bones that this was real. As unbelievable as it was, he knew that face.

"Bucky?" he gasped, fighting for air.

The man froze for a moment, then snarled as the hands came away from Steve's neck. It was Bucky, it had to be. There was no mistaking that face.

"Bucky?" Steve repeated, moving up to prop himself on his elbows.

"Wrong," Bucky growled, and Steve caught the shine of a metal on Bucky's arm. Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes was  _alive_. A metal fist connected with his temple and everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Eight hundred miles away, a park ranger was jolted awake by an alarm. Groaning, he rolled back in his office chair to glance at the monitors. No one could possibly be stupid enough to think they could just walk all over the park at this time of night. Especially with the storm system that was headed their way—destined to freeze and pound the Northeast with even more snow. That's what the weatherman had said anyway. The park ranger wasn't the type to sit at the TV and watch weather systems crawl over the country. He pressed a few buttons and the alarm stopped. The camera feeds switched to the entrance and night vision showed nothing but rain.

"Great" he grumbled, tapping a few keys to look around the park. Nothing looked off and there weren't any footprints in the mud. The only movement in the park besides a few deer was that of the team assembled to watch the bat activity at the south entrance.

The park ranger fumbled for his walkie-talkie and changed the channel. "This is Park Ranger Brad Turner. Is everyone accounted for, over?"

He waited a few moments before a voice sounded from his device. "Copy, Mr. Turner. This is Dr. Donald Blake. Everything is fine here, over."

Brad shifted the speaker closer to his mouth. "Dr. Blake, I'm afraid you need to evacuate the cave system. Weather is coming in fast and setting off all kinds of alarms, over."

"Copy. Way ahead of you. Our equipment is loaded up—we were about to call you, actually. " There was a pause. "Er, over."

"I'm picking up your signal from inside of the cave system," Brad said, squinting at the monitor. He didn't have time for these scientists' need to keep studying. Bats didn't doo much in rainstorms anyway. "Leave the caves immediately, over."

"Roger. Give me a minute," said Dr. Blake.

"Look, doctor, I don't have a minute. You need too—"

He was cut off by a brilliant stream of lightning that illuminated his entire booth. It was the thickest bolt Brad had ever seen, and it didn't go away, it just kept streaming more electricity into the ground. His monitors shut off and the power went out, but Brad didn't notice—he was too tranfixed. The walkie-talkie fell to the ground and suddenly the lightning stopped.

He hurried outside to get a better look as the thunder shook the ground. When the lightning next flashed, he saw something massive fly off into the night, bigger than any bat he'd ever seen. It was gone before he had time to process. No storm was ever this intense—he was pretty sure it wasn't even possible for lightning to go on for that long. The emergency phone rang and he ran back inside and held the receiver to his ear.

"Mammoth Caves, Park Ranger Brad Turner speaking."

"Hello, Mr. Turner. My name is Agent Coulson of SHIELD. My team and I are waiting at the entrance to this park and we'd like to pay you a visit."

It took a moment for Brad to regain his thoughts. "Uh, sorry. There is no admittance to the park after dark, government or otherwise."

"I don't think you understand," said Agent Coulson. "You've just seen something that was not supposed to be seen. You're coming with us."


End file.
